


Coming to Rest

by ConstantlyTiredReader



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Although more frenemies than true enemies, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Frenemies, Getting to Know Each Other, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, It's actually fluffier than it sounds, LV Issues, M/M, Pining, References to Undertale Genocide Route, Serious Injuries, Sexual Content, Sleep, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22591504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantlyTiredReader/pseuds/ConstantlyTiredReader
Summary: Machine broken, Rus finds himself stuck in Underfell while he works on getting it fixed. Until then, he has to deal with Edge, Red's (maybe not so) insufferable brother.
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Spicyhoney
Comments: 168
Kudos: 155





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was just supposed to be a quick little piece on sleepy intimacy... what happened?

Just because Rus is sprawled out on the couch, ninety percent of the way to a well-earned nap, it doesn’t mean that he can’t feel the pair of eye lights staring at him from across the room.

What was supposed to be a quick trip to Underfell to return some empty Tupperware containers from movie night has rapidly turned into some ‘three hour tour aboard the S.S. Minnow’ shit. The plans were to drop the dishes off, maybe have a smoke with Red, and leave. That’s it, end of story. But, as soon as he had tried to set the coordinates for home, he was rewarded with a puff of acrid smoke to the face and an error message. There also may or may not have been a tiny explosion followed by some sketchy sizzling noises — and by that, he means there absolutely was. Wandering back upstairs in shock, he was promptly greeted by the justifiably concerned faces of both Underfell bros.

Three days later, he and Red still have no idea what exactly caused it to fritz out, or how to fix it.

Blue, thank the stars, knows about the issues with Red’s machine; their phones have remained unaffected by the machine’s weirdness. So far; Rus doesn't want to push his luck. Back in Underswap, everything seems to be going hunky-dory. Alphys has people covering his shifts and Blue tells him that the official excuse is that he is under the weather. That, of course, is the easiest option; a skeleton —which is an uncommon type of monster, so very few people can go to challenge any symptoms Blue might come up with — who has low HP being sick makes a lot more sense than that same skeleton being stuck in an alternate universe. Hell, a couple of years ago, Rus himself wouldn't have believed it.

Most importantly, the human hasn’t arrived yet, and isn’t due to make it in Snowdin for a bit longer. By that time, he and Red should have the machine back up to snuff. 

They _will_ have the machine back up to snuff. They need to.

Today is the first day Rus has been left alone to tinker with the machine. Right now, Red is doing his rounds — because there’s only so much work his asshole of a brother will allow him to miss, multiversal emergencies or not — and Rus has worked himself to the point of tiredness where he can’t focus his eye lights too well. Which is a damn shame, considering he needs to deal with all sorts of finicky little doohickeys and schematics written in too tiny fonts. If anything, taking a nap is the smartest decision he has made all day. It’s better to briefly delay progress, after all, than have to redo fuck knows how much work because he made careless mistakes. 

Plus, he would really rather not deal with Red if he went and fucked something up. The little guy has been testier than normal lately, and that’s a button that should go unpressed.

So yeah, the plans for the afternoon were to hitch a ride aboard the train to sleepytime junction in the hopes that it will help clear up his mind. No one else was home, meaning he could sleep in peace. Well, besides Doomfanger. But the feline hasn't been in a room with Rus for more than thirty seconds at a time, so he doesn't count. During breakfast this morning, Edge was quick to inform him that the shieldings around the house are impenetrable to intruders as long as the door is locked, easing a fear he hadn’t even bothered considering. And Rus remembered seeing Edge lock the door behind him when he and Red left for the day, so he was good to go.

Or, at least, that was what he thought.

Without opening his eyes, he asks, “edge, what the hell are you doing here?” Captain ‘Great and Terrible’ should definitely be working right now, striking fear into the hearts of citizens or whatever Royal Guard captains do in Underfell. Probably that, though; it seems pretty on-brand for the edgelord.

“Making sure you’re okay,” is his curt response, his voice growing nearer to match his crisp footsteps. Edge doesn’t question how Rus knew it was him and not Red. Rus doesn’t tell him that it was because Red would just teleport in and probably dig out the sharpie for pranking purposes. The fact that he doesn’t have a half-finished dick drawn on his forehead says a lot.

Rus also doesn’t comment about what a weird explanation that is. _Making sure you’re okay._ What exactly is supposed to happen that would make him not okay? Sure, he guesses that the machine could _maybe_ decide to make another mini fireworks show right next to his face. That could be defined as not okay. But hey, the scorch marks washed right off his skull with just a little soap and water; over the years, he has easily given himself worse burns by klutzing around with his lighter. And yeah, there are other risks involved in working with everything, but it’s nothing that Rus isn’t prepared for. He knows where the first aid kit is in the basement. Wrapping up a finger and applying salve is within his competences, believe it or not. Just because he doesn’t come from a place where he can expect to be attacked three times before breakfast, it doesn’t mean that Rus doesn’t know how to patch up a boo-boo.

So, as an overview, it’s fine. He’s fine. The only thing that isn’t fucking fine is the machine and that’s a work in progress.

However, if this little check-up helps keep the edgelord calm… ish — even at his most serene, the guy always seems to be wound up tighter than a rubber band — Rus isn’t going to put a stop to it. Consider it a gift to Edge. It would be one hell of an understatement to say that the two of them aren’t exactly all that buddy buddy; at their best, him and Edge get along like oil and water. But, Rus can still understand Edge’s motives, even if they are annoying as hell. Since landing in Underfell, Edge has assigned himself as Rus’ protector, like it or not. The guy takes his work seriously. And apparently, that work includes making sure no harm comes to Rus in the safety of his home. When he's napping.

Whatever.

Except, he does wonder…

“so, you _do_ realise that you’re just gonna stand there and watch me sleep, right?”

“I’m aware.”

Okay. Cool. That’s a thing that’s happening.

Shifting under his blanket, Rus tries to get himself used to the feeling of those blazing red eye lights, as focused as a pair of lasers on him. Lasers. Yeah, that’s sure one way to describe Edge’s gaze. He does have that habit of staring at things — and sometimes people — like the sheer power of his eyes will cause them to catch on fire. Except with Grillby, of course; with him, the glare is definitely more of an ice blast situation.

Tiredly, he wonders if when it’s dark, does Edge’s demon cat try to capture that light? That would be an interesting experiment, although he doubts Edge would let him conduct it, the buzzkill. Red could probably be persuaded, but then it would be a question of getting Doomfanger alone in a room with him. Oh well. 

Strangely, Rus doesn’t find himself minding the staring as much as he thought he would. Is it still borderline creepy to have another guy watching him sleep? Absolutely. But, there is something… weirdly comforting about it. An extra sense of security when he’s stuck here in murder land. Yeah, that’s it. He can sleep safely, knowing there is one extra safety measure separating him from the dangers of this world.

Even if Edge himself is dangerous, he is at least a known danger. He's pretty sure he can trust the guy not to dust him in his sleep.

Out of curiosity, Rus cracks open an eye. Edge is exactly where he guessed he was: looming over the couch by Rus’ feet. His posture is very militaristic, accentuated by the fact that he is still in his full suit of armour, minus the helmet, which is sitting on a side table. What does come as a surprise, though, is that his eye lights don’t appear as harsh as they feel. 

It’s kinda nice, actually.

Wait, what?

Okay, _clearly_ Rus must be more exhausted than he realised; his thoughts are going in weird places. Shoving _that_ back into the deep recesses of his mind to the spot with embarrassing childhood memories and various songs to get stuck in his head at a later date, he sits up a fraction. Mostly, that means lifting his head off the lumpy throw pillow. 

Edge doesn’t react. Not even with a blink. He just continues to stand there, unmoving as a statue. How can he be comfortable like that? Rus’ spine twinges in sympathy; wearing all that metal armour all the time surely can’t be pleasant. Actually, it explains a lot about Edge’s eternally perfect posture; he doubts it would be possible to slouch while wearing that.

Great. Now Rus is staring back at him. That’s one competition he really didn’t sign up for, with good reason; his sockets are still too sore from earlier.

Half mockingly, he says, “why don’t you get comfy, edgelord? you can come and cuddle if you want. i won’t bite.”

Edge quickly turns his head to the side, finally breaking eye contact. Huh. In the darkness of the room, it’s hard to make out details. However, unless he is imagining it — which could be entirely possible — there is a soft flush of crimson magic to Edge’s cheeks.

What could that be about?

“I’ll just keep watch, thank you,” Edge says gruffly. He folds his arms against his chest, as though to challenge him into arguing. No thanks on that one.

Rus shrugs. “whatever floats your boat.” Yawning, he lies back down, turning over to face the couch. “my offer still holds. wake me up if you need anything.” Hopefully not, though.

Not bothering to wait for an answer, he shuts his eyes. The couch is lumpy as hell — some things, apparently, are the same no matter the universe — but Rus has fallen asleep in less ideal situations. Like yesterday, when he passed out for a quick cat nap while he was using Red’s sketchy homemade creeper. Besides the general discomfort of lying down on the super rough plywood, Red had decided to be a jerk and woke him up with an air horn. He had woken up with a start to Red’s raucous laughter, hitting his skull on the base of the machine in the process. Just thinking about it makes his forehead ache.

Soon, the perfect combination of quiet, darkness and simply being in a horizontal position kick in to do their jobs. Sleep washes over Rus easily, smoothly. His body gratefully surrenders to its tender embrace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge keeps watch as Rus tries to rest.

As soon as he is confident that the other skeleton is fast asleep — and truly asleep, not the false kind of near rest he is used to seeing from Red, where the slightest change in atmosphere will have him up with an attack at the ready — Edge crosses to the other side of the couch. He removes his left glove, briefly touching his hand to his own face as a point of comparison before pressing it over Rus’ forehead.

Late last night, Red had all but barged into his room, shortcutting loudly inside in a strange combination of discretion and brazenness. Ignoring Edge’s spark of irritation over being interrupted from his paperwork, Red had plopped down onto his bed, dirty sneakers and all. 

“heya, paps,” he said nonchalantly, picking at his teeth with a sharpened claw. Honestly, it is a wonder his brother doesn’t have more gold in his mouth with such a disregard for dental hygiene. Or any hygiene.

Although, at that given moment, Edge was concentrating more on his brother’s use of nickname for him. Red can say nothing and everything with any word that escapes his mouth, creating an infinite possibility of meanings. Something as simple as calling him Paps can have layer upon layer of significance, left for Edge to attempt to decipher. 

Given the lack of context, Edge had no choice but to continue the conversation, gleaning more information from his older brother. 

“Yes, brother,” he started, a neutral invitation for more. Nothing too eager, nothing too uninterested. It is a delicate manoeuvre, talking to Red, like pulling a tooth when blindfolded without causing damage to the rest of the mouth; too little results in nothing but a waste of time, too much results in unnecessary pain and there is so much potential to miss the mark completely.

“noticed ya weren’t payin’ much attention to our little guest tonight.” Said as breezily as if he was ordering at Grillby’s. But underneath, hints of accusation and disappointment. The most likely implication: Edge, in Red’s eyes, had been slacking.

Edge, however, had no plans to take such a rebuke sitting down. “What makes you think that, brother?”

“because if ya were, you’d be worrying your non-existent ass off ‘bout him right now, but here you are.” 

Eyes narrowed, Edge set his pen down, closing his folder. “You’ve got my attention.”

Red’s grin was relentless. “let’s just say that our little honeybun didn’t seem to be doin’ so well when we were workin’ earlier.”

“Really,” he scoffed. “Is that all?”

Red’s words meant nothing. Of course someone like the lazy ass would be uneasy given his current circumstances. Beyond the fact that he must surely be working far more than usual, Edge’s alternate was completely out of his element. He has found himself in an unfamiliar world for which he wasn’t prepared, and without his brother, no less. Add that to the stress of the machine malfunctioning and it came as no surprise that Rus wouldn’t be doing so well.

But then, Red pulled his ‘I’m your older brother and the Judge and I know more than you, Papyrus’ expression. Edge can’t stand that expression. Gratefully, he didn’t have the time to go into the associated lecture — Rus had come back up, asking for an extra blanket — but Edge had gotten the gist of it. There’s something more going on, something Edge was missing.

What that something is happens to be what interests Edge now. 

Today has been a quiet day, quiet enough that he doesn’t feel any concern about leaving his post for half an hour, maybe an hour, to check in on Rus. A quick text to Red, letting him know about his brief absence, only increased his confidence. 

Finding Rus lying down on the couch… well, Edge couldn’t say he was shocked. Rus having the sense to recognise his presence with his eyes closed, however, was a relieving surprise. On the off-chance that something happens, angel forbid, that sense of awareness will serve him well. His attitude? Not so much, but if Red has managed to get by through the years, the ashtray should theoretically be able to, especially since he isn’t leaving the house anytime soon.

Edge removes his hand from Rus’ forehead, settling down on the floor with his back to the couch, eyes on the door. No sign of fever, which is good. He had been wondering, based on how cold Rus has been. His shivering has been near endless, along with his requests for blankets. Then again, it could just be a low HP thing. Red tends to feel the Snowdin weather more than Edge does, and Rus’ clothing isn’t as nicely insulated as Red’s.

Like everything else, it seems, even the cold is softer in Underswap than it is here in Underfell.

Almost thoughtlessly, Edge turns to tuck in the blanket, assuring that Rus won’t be able to feel any draftiness as he sleeps. There; that’s better. This earns a soft sigh as he stretches out in his sleep, nearly undoing all of Edge’s work. Then, his body relaxes, settling back in without so much as a murmur of discontent.

Honestly, except for the lack of fur — and survival instincts — Rus is the spitting image of a sleeping Doomfanger. It’s uncanny, the way he simultaneously curls up and sprawls out on the couch. If the living room window wasn’t barred shut for security reasons, Edge is almost certain he would have repositioned himself to be able to lie in a beam of light. Strange that the two of them don’t get along.

Stranger still is the fact that Edge doesn’t notice the way his mouth upturns at the thought, completely unbidden.

Not one to waste time doing nothing, Edge begins to consider what items in his wardrobe he might be able to lend his alternate for the duration of his visit. Something that will keep the other warm, but he won’t mind being potentially damaged by any tinkering mishaps. In many ways, Red’s clothing would be more appropriate to serve both those purposes, but with the obvious drawback of being too small for Rus. Just because a coat is furlined doesn’t mean it will do any good if it leaves half of the body uncovered.

Just as he is debating whether or not to head upstairs and grab a sweater Papyrus had insistently given to him during his world’s Gyftmas, a concerning gasp causes his train of thought to derail.

“Rus?” Edge asks, keeping his voice low. His magic is at the ready, even though he knows that, logically speaking, there can be no attacker; he is watching the only entrance to the house. Still, it is always better to be prepared.

Daring a glance over his shoulder, he finds Rus sitting up. Preternatural tension resides in his body, so unlike his normally relaxed form. His sockets are wide open, but his eye lights are completely extinguished, unseeing. In short, something is going on.

Then, just as quick as drawing a sharpened blade through a thin thread holding up a trap, everything snaps apart. Rus starts shaking, the clattering of his bones almost painfully loud. Pale eye lights erupt into existence, too bright in his formerly empty sockets. Worst of all is his frantic mumbling, too incoherent for Edge to parse together.

“not again,” is the first thing Edge understands. Barely. Repeated like a mantra, sometimes Rus intersperses other words along with it. “i can’t do it,” comes as such a phrase, along with, “please, not again, no more”. 

“Rus,” Edge repeats firmly, raising his voice as he turns to face him fully. “You’re fine.”

The reassurance doesn’t help. Not really. 

On the plus side, it does manage to catch Rus’ attention. Impossibly, his already round eye sockets widen further, seeming to register Edge for the first time since waking. However, his trembling increases, louder than his shuddering breath.

“sans! where’s sans?!” he all but shouts. “where is he?”

Assuming that he means his brother, Edge says, “He’s not here.”

All too late, Edge realises his wording of that was a mistake. Rus folds in on himself, his anguished keening threatening to crack both of their souls. 

“no, no, no, i can’t lose him again, not again.” 

Grim realisation sets in as Edge climbs onto the couch. Like all the skeletons at this point, he knows about the Resets, no thanks to his own brother. With the different universes, that was a secret that simply couldn’t be kept; there are only so many times one can visit the others before finding out thanks to confusion over a conversation that they had had the other week that their world has been sent back in time, meaning that the conversation technically hasn’t happened yet.

The details of the Resets, though, are something none of the older brothers want to share. Edge is lucky, in some ways; the natural state of their world makes it all too easy to make an educated guess as to what can happen. If Red — who has prepared him since childhood about the daily risks of Underfell, who has raised him to be a fighter, how to survive in a world where kindness will only be repaid by cruelty, where death is a daily occurrence — is bothered enough by the Resets that he refuses to talk about them… Well, there are very few options as to what could happen to make that the case.

Piecing together what he can about Rus’ nightmare only goes to add more evidence to his suspicions. Evidence, he might add, that he would have been completely fine without. It doesn’t take much inference to determine what Rus means by “losing” Blue “again”.

“Hush,” Edge murmurs, as soft and gentle as a voice like his can get, “Blue’s all right, Rus. He’s safe in Underswap, probably making tacos as we speak.” Hesitantly, he wraps his arms around his distraught alternate, rubbing careful circles on his back. “Everything is going to be fine.”

For the next few minutes, Edge just sits there, holding Rus and repeating the same words in varying configurations in the hopes that something will stick. His attempts at comforting are awkward; even he knows that. But what is he supposed to do? It isn’t as though he has any experience in these matters. Any time Red has a nightmare, well… it’s hard enough for Edge to find out about them in the first place. He knows for a fact, though, that if he were to try something like this, he would end up with a bone attack pointed in his direction, at the very least.

Rus, however, is a lot less likely to burst into a fit of violence over some gentle handling. Even when the handling comes from Edge; it isn’t a secret that Rus can’t stand him and would typically prefer to spend time with Jerry over Edge. No. If anything, this seems to be working for him, thank the stars.

“There, there,” Edge says, continuing to rub circles as Rus works on breathing. He still feels ridiculous — he is supposed to terrify people, who is he to even try and help someone through their terror? — but he has to admit, there is something… nice about this. Not that Rus is upset; absolutely not. But rather, that he is allowed to help and to be kind, even with the LV staining his soul that says otherwise.

That maybe, he can be a good person, despite all the awful things he has done.

As soon as Rus is calm — or breathing, at least, at a mostly steady rate — Edge takes out his phone. “Here. To call your brother, if you would like.”

Rus snatches it from his hands, dialing before he is even fully holding it. “thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He starts getting up. This, Edge imagines, will be a private moment between the Underswap brothers, and he can respect that. His attempt, however, doesn’t come to fruition; there is no leaving with the way Rus is tightly holding his hand.

Edge doesn’t think about how easy it would be to pull away from him, how all it would take is a quick turn of the wrist. Not now, with Rus trembling like a leaf with each ring of the phone and the only other comfort Edge can offer is further murmuring of useless words. 

There is no question about it: Edge stays.

“Hello, Edge,” Blue finally answers, his exuberant voice easy to hear across the phone. Beside him, Rus’ relief is palpable, from the way his grip on Edge’s hand decreases to the way he slumps back against the couch.

“hey, bro. knock knock.”

Blue sighs, but indulgently responds, “Who’s there?”

“geez, bro,” Rus teases, his voice barely quavering, “don’t you recognise the sweet, sweet sounds of your own brother’s voice? i’m hurt.”

Edge can’t help but soften along with Rus as Blue goes into a loud tirade of that being _awful_ , Papy, must you always answer the phone like that? That’s not even how knock-knock jokes work! 

Although, the reason for Edge’s smile is likely different from Rus’. The more Blue talks, the more the tension fades away from his alternate. He even starts laughing — genuinely so — as Blue updates him as to the last development in the task of trying to get their Alphys and Undyne together.

“gee, bro, that’s rough. guess we’re back to the drawing board with that one, huh?”

“That we are,” Blue agrees. “But enough about me. Is there a particular reason you called me — and on Edge’s phone, no less?”

Ah, there is that tension again. Silently, Rus gulps. He shoves the hand that isn’t holding the phone into his hoodie pocket, nearly taking Edge’s along with him before letting go at the last second, thank fuck; he doesn’t want to think about what could be inside that thing. The stickiest pocket lint known to monsterkind, most likely. 

After a few seconds of fiddling around, Rus says, “nah, nothing’s going on. just felt like making sure the magnificent sans hasn’t been slacking off at his job.”

“ _Please_ , Papy,” Blue replies, the verbal equivalent of an eye roll. “Slacking off is your thing.”

“heh. yeah, i guess it is, bro. guess it is.” He yawns, and Edge narrows his eyes. Yes, it wasn’t a long nap that he had. Certainly, it wasn’t a restful one — the nightmare ruined that. However, adding that to the intensity of the dark smudges under his eyes, and Rus looks more exhausted than when Edge returned to the house. 

He will need to keep an eye on that.

“well, good luck with your puzzles.” Eye lights twinkling, Rus adds, “i wouldn’t want you to lose your _piece_ of mind because everything doesn’t _fit_ together.”

“Papy!”

“love you, bro,” he snickers.

“And I love you too, even when your puns are infuriating.” A moment of silence. Then, more somberly, “Please, come back soon, Papy.”

Rus nods, as though forgetting that his brother can’t see him. “i’m trying my best, sans.” If the words come out a little watery, Edge can’t blame him. Not at all. The only thing he can do is grab a tissue out of his inventory to pass over to him. 

“That’s all that I ask,” Blue responds, sounding equally tearful. “I’ll talk to you soon?”

“yeah, sounds like a plan. bye, bro.”

“Goodbye, brother.”

Rus moves the phone away from his acoustic meatus, finger hovering over the screen. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to hang up; Edge is sure that, if he could, he would remain on the line with Blue until he is back in Underswap. Thankfully, Blue does it for him.

As soon as the screen goes blank, Rus drops the phone onto Edge’s lap. “well,” he says, pushing the blanket off of him, “guess i should get back to the machine, huh? sorry ‘bout all this.”

Yes, because that sounds like an absolutely wonderful idea given his current emotional state. Surely, there is no way that could blow up in his face, metaphorically or literally speaking. 

Edge sighs, standing up to block his path. “Rus, don’t be an idiot.”

Rus glares at him harshly before shortcutting directly behind him. “fuck off. don’t you have some killing to do or something?”

Ignoring the obvious attempt to get him to go away, Edge turns around and paces in front of Rus. “You need to sleep.”

“no thanks. besides, i thought you said i needed to get my ‘damned act together and actually do some real work for once in your stars-damned life’. wouldn’t want to let you down.”

With that, he shoves past Edge, shoulders colliding as he heads back down to the basement. The door slams loudly behind him.

For precisely five seconds, Edge considers going after him. However, as soon as he takes a step forward, he can practically _see_ his brother giving him his ‘don’t be a dumbass, boss’ face, so he stops.

Chasing after Rus isn’t going to do any good. So, Edge leaves him be, as wrong as it feels deep down in his soul. Like it or not, it is the better choice. Besides, he has duties to attend to. 

He can’t afford to waste any more of his time or energy on someone who doesn’t want it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rus receives a less than pleasant surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for potential warnings.

With a tired groan, Rus rubs the top of his skull with the nearest rag. His groan increases in volume as he pulls it away. Welp. That’s what he gets for not paying attention there; now he has Red’s sock germs all over his face.

Eh, still not the worst thing that has happened this week.

As it turns out, the machine is far worse off than they had suspected. Parts had blown which aren’t exactly easy to replace; in fact, most of them were likely custom made. To make matters worse, this Alphys has priority access to pretty much all things tech under royal decree, so good luck coming across them from out of nowhere.

Rus was foolish enough to ask if they could just ask her for the parts. In his defense, he has always been decent pals with his Undyne and he could negotiate tradesies for a lot of things. Red just laughed in his face, but there was a note of sympathy behind it. That’s a no, then.

He would never admit this to his brother — not in a million years, Blue would find something to read into it, and he doesn’t want to worry his baby bro like that — but their nightly phone convos are probably the only thing keeping Rus sane at this point. Being basically imprisoned in Red and Edge’s house, he has started to go more than a little stir crazy. Yeah, he knows the whole ‘stay inside’ thing is for his own safety, angel knows he doesn’t want to risk going outside in Underfell alone, but it still fucking sucks.

But hearing his brother speak, he can close his eyes and relax on the couch. In those moments, it’s almost like being home.

Almost. 

The pokey couch spring being back and to the left in the couch instead of being slightly to the front right goes surprisingly far to ruin the illusion. 

The point is, Rus doesn’t know how he would go through with all this if it weren’t for the technological joy of the phone. Even now, the temptation to call Blue while knowing full well that he is probably off recalibrating his puzzles or training with Alphys is strong. Blue would answer; he always does. 

He won’t call his brother, though. It’ll only worry Blue, and Rus already has a monopoly on worrying.

The human should be coming any day now, if his calculations are correct. It’s always a gamble, after all, to see what will happen, how and when they will emerge from the Ruins. A gamble that never works out in Rus’ favour.

How will they react, if they reach the forest and he doesn’t show up to greet them? What will happen once they reach the Judgement Hall with no Judge, regardless of how much dust they may have on their hands? Will the perceived absence of Judgement cause them to think their actions have no consequences? Is that even possible when talking about a human with the power to rewind time? Fuck if he knows. 

Rus doesn’t want to think about this. He doesn’t want to consider how the human will just keep playing with everyone once they realise there are more options for them to do. He doesn’t want to think about _any_ of this, yet here he is, unable to sleep because of all these stars awful thoughts circulating his skull like the world’s worst merry-go-round.

Fuck. He could really use a smoke right now. 

Sighing, Rus gets back to sorting through Red’s selection of various doodads to see if he can MacGyver his way into some kind of replacement parts. So far, he can’t see anything, but an up-to-date inventory is still nice to have, so whatever. And who knows? Maybe it will help him understand why Red appears to ‘sort’ things by colour rather than type and size like a normal fucking person.

Probably not, but a guy can dream.

In any case, any attempts at productivity are shot out the window when Rus hears the pop of a shortcut followed by a dragging thud. Startled, he whips around, only to drop the container of truss head screws he had been holding.

Painfully bright magic sparks around Red, like a sputtering of explosions, which is exactly the last thing they need by the machine right now. More concerning, though, is the limp, unconscious body Red is half carrying, half dragging on the floor.

Edge.

“don’t have time to chit chat,” Red barks, all harsh business like his bro isn’t currently bleeding out onto the floor. “you can heal, right?”

Rus wobbles his hand, already rushing over. “kinda?” Blue is the healer in the family, really, but Rus can handle himself. Mostly.

“good.” Shoving Edge into Rus’ arms, he says, “i’m trustin’ ya with him, got it?”

Rus barely has the time to nod before Red is gone.

For a few seconds, all he can do is stare at the skeleton in his arms. Edge… what the fuck happened? Checking him only shows Rus the useless message of ‘The Great and Terrible Papyrus has faced worse’ — which is neither helpful to the current situation _or_ Rus’ mental state — and that his HP is low and dropping still. Edge’s armour is heavily dented and scratched, bearing scorch marks indicative of one hell of a magical brawl. It’s still hot to the touch, just shy of burning. The paranoid part of Rus’ mind screams at him to stop touching, just in case the ill-intent is still present enough to cause him harm. 

Then, practicality rushes in, bringing him back to his senses. Standing around here like an idiot isn’t helping anyone, least of all Edge. His alternate may be an asshole, but he can’t just leave him like this. Especially not after Red entrusted him to Rus. It’s an unspoken pact between them all: brothers take care of each other, and that extends through the multiverse.

Not wanting to waste a second more, he shortcuts them both up to the living room — he doesn’t need marrow mixing with the electronics, thanks.

The first step to dealing with everything is to ditch Edge’s armour so he can check on what, exactly, he is supposed to be healing. That is a tough task in and of itself. With all the damage to it, Rus struggles to detach it from Edge’s body. Thankfully, the universe must not be out for him completely, because he manages to pop off the chest plate before grabbing a hammer and crowbar.

But, looking at his bones with nothing but an undershirt and a pair of jeans covering them…

… it’s bad.

Sour magic wells up in Rus’ mouth, terribly acidic, but he resists the urge to throw up. He can’t afford to do that right now. He can’t afford to waste any magic when he’s going to need all he has for healing this mangled disaster.

In Rus’ opinion, it’s a blessing on Edge’s part that he’s currently knocked out, because he doesn’t want to think about the sheer agony he would be in. His entire right side of his body is messed up. Specifically, his arm and leg — there are no visible injuries to his spine, a small mercy — and Rus can’t even _think_ about what could cause so much damage over such an expansive area, he doesn’t want to think about it. 

Most concerning of all would have to be the damage to the femur and pelvis, which is more than a little bit concerning. The femoral neck has nearly snapped completely, hanging on by an alarmingly small amount of bone. Along with that, the femoral head is dislocated and cracked. Similar damage extends all the way up to the ilium, a nightmarish picture Rus wouldn’t wish on his worst enemies.

Putting aside how strong those bones are to begin with, especially on someone as ripped as the edgelord, the knowledge of the permanent damage which could happen if Rus doesn’t treat them immediately is _terrifying_. As it is, the best-case scenario still leaves any patient vulnerable for redamaging from stress fractures. And for someone like Edge, whose job as Captain in Underfell is practically a guarantee for repetitive, high impact activity that puts stress on those bones, it could be debilitating.

Welp. That just means there’s really no room for error here, huh.

The process of healing Edge is a bit of a blur. All Rus can say for sure is that he is pretty much all out of juice by the time he stops, and the worst of it is taken care of. As for the rest, well, splints and slings are just gonna have to do until he can get some food and some sleep into his system.

What matters the most now, in Rus’ opinion, is that the edgelord is stable, his HP slowly starting to go up, and his leg will probably heal just fine. Hopefully.

After he wrangles Edge into the couch with some handy dandy blue magic — because fuck knows it’s easier and safer than lifting the dude by hand — Rus leans against the wall. The impulse to curl up on the floor, maybe pass out into a nap for an hour or two, is tempting. However, he’s supposed to be the responsible adult here and responsible adults are supposed to clean up and shit. A quick breather, though, that’s something he needs ASAP. 

Yeah.

Rolling his head on his neck, Rus reluctantly gets back to work. If Edge is anywhere near the neat freak that Blue is — which he already knows all too well after living in the guy’s house for over half a week — there should be a jumbo bottle of hydrogen peroxide in either the kitchen or the bathroom. Hell, maybe both; Edge probably has more excuse to use it than Blue.

A glance back at Edge makes him hesitate. Rus returns to the couch, grabbing the blanket sitting on the back. Thanks to his HP loss, he might be a little colder than normal. It would be a dick move to leave him shivering with his injuries.

Except, as soon as he does that —

“What are you doing?!”

— Edge snaps up to a seated position, at least two weapons summoned and pointed at Rus’ face.

Startled beyond belief, he staggers backward into an aborted shortcut, clutching at his hoodie. How the _fuck_ does someone go from being unconscious to one hundred percent ready to fuck things up despite some still very broken and not one hundred percent set bones.

“cool your jets, dude! it’s just a blanket!”

Edge blinks. His eye lights are slightly fuzzy, not yet focused. Likely, he isn’t as close to one hundred percent conscious as Rus had thought. His summoned bone constructs leave an eerie glow to his face. This only ups the intimidation factor when he demands, “Move! I need to —”

“what you need to do is lie back down! everything’s fine. red brought you here.”

Whether or not those words sink in is debatable. Keeping up that harsh glare of his, Edge struggles to his feet and seriously?! Rus surges forward to grab him by the shoulders. Somehow, he needs to make Edge lie back down on the couch without causing him more harm.

Fighting him all the way, Edge grits out, “I need to help Sans.”

“he’ll be fine.” And the sooner he can get that through the edgelord’s thick skull, the better. Even when he gives himself the advantage by messing with Edge’s personal gravity, Rus is barely able to keep him settled. He simply doesn’t have enough magic. Healing is way too exhausting, and fuck knows he doesn’t have the physical strength or energy to go up against him at any other time.

Edge slackens under the weight of it all. Eyes wide, he looks up desperately at Rus. “I need to help him.”

Reluctantly, Rus eases up on the pressure on his soul; there’s no reason to hold him down more than he has to. The moment Edge takes advantage of that kindness to try and get back up, though, the brakes come back on. “nope, you stubborn ass, that’s not happening.”

“But —”

“hey boss. whaddya think yer doing?”

Never in his entire life has Rus been so happy to hear the crude tones of Red’s voice. The other skeleton crosses in front of Rus, putting himself between him and Edge. “everything’s bein’ handled." He wipes a trail of marrow off his face. Other than that, Rus can’t see anything wrong with him. Well, more wrong than Red’s normal. “now be a good patient for rus and let me do my job, boss.”

Red doesn’t wait for Edge to respond. Turning around, he tosses something at the couch over his shoulder. Pills, Rus realises, as Edge picks up the bottle and glares at it. Almost pouts, actually, and holy shit, why is that so funny? Truly, the combo of magic expenditure and cabin fever must be making him lose that last thread.

“hey,” Red says. If Rus were to be generous, he would say that Red is patting his shoulder. This is Red, though, which means it’s realistically more of a slow slap. “you make sure the boss actually takes those, a’ight?”

“yeah, i think i can do that.”

“good.” He exhales slowly. “good. i’ll leave ya to it.” Half a step later, he disappears through a shortcut.

* * *

Edge is asleep, thank the stars.

Rus has no clue what is in those pills that Red brought, but whatever it may be, he is willing to call it a miracle. As soon as he was able to wheedle his way past Edge’s unbearable hardheadedness to actually take the damn things, the injured skeleton was out like a shattered lightbulb.

Tiredly, Rus slumps against the front of the couch. Should he get his nonexistent ass some food? Sure. He needs to eat — honestly, both he and Edge should — but he can’t cook to save his life and he refuses to waste precious Underfell resources like that. If there’s one thing he’s figured out for when he makes it back home, it’s that he and Blue need to brainstorm a way to share some food. For the first time, at least, they can call it thanks for all that Edge and Red spent on Rus. Yeah, that might work to soothe over that prickly Underfell pride.

Well, at least Rus can now officially say he did something good today. Cool. Good for him. 

Does he care right now? Eh, not really; he’s too wiped for most emotions at this point. Until he can fully recharge, this is as good as it’s gonna get.

And if he doesn’t notice the way he falls asleep in an echo of how Edge had kept watch over him as he rested the other day? Well, that too is a problem for later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:
> 
> This chapter has descriptions of severe injuries and a brief mention of vomiting.
> 
> If you would prefer to avoid this section, stop at "... it's bad." and continue ahead to "The process of healing Edge is a bit of a blur." Below, there is a summary of this section.
> 
> Summary: 
> 
> Edge is very injured, which makes Rus feel unwell. His right leg is broken, along with his right arm. The leg is the worst of the injuries and Rus is concerned over whether or not he will be able to heal it properly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rus gets to spend some quality time working with an injured Edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think this chapter needs any warnings, but I'm admittedly a bit out of it right now, so please let me know.

Never in his wildest dreams would Rus imagine that he would spend his surprise vacay in Underfell on babysitting duty.

It’s fricking weird.

With Edge out of commission — a hell of an understatement if Rus has ever heard one — he has been stuck at home. Alone. With Rus. Joy of all everfucking joys.

It took a shit ton of effort to make this a reality. In the end, it took a combined talking down from Red, Rus, _and_ Undyne — who is somehow both less and more terrifying than he was expecting — to get Edge to take a week of ‘desk work’. Translation: not leaving the house like a stars damned idiot. Already, Rus is placing unofficial bets on how long it will be until he breaks that order.

Edge is an _awful_ patient, and if he had his way, he would be back in action when he can barely put any weight on his splinted leg. 

The only thing keeping him anywhere close to rested is to give him tasks to help with the machine. Which, Rus would like to tiredly add, is awful. For the both of them, to be precise. His need to be useful is an absolute pain in the ass — impressive considering how Rus is currently assless and yet still somehow feeling the burn. Doing his designated Royal Guard paperwork simply isn’t enough. Oh no. Edgelord extraordinaire zoomed through the last of his assigned desk work for the week in less than two days; it turns out, the stick lodged firmly up his pelvis has surprising results for the productivity of his troops. Yay.

So yeah. Rus now has a handy dandy assistant in Edge, but not because he asked for it. It’s only in hopes that it will diminish his reign of terror. As it is, it’s still not enough. All it takes is for him to stop paying attention to Edge for a minute or two and —

Damn it. Not again.

“sit your ass down, edge,” Rus sighs, looking up at him from where he had been taking out some shot gears. Edge obeys, thank the angel above, even as he glares resentfully back at him.

This. This is hell and he deserves some kind of medal, thanks.

Stifling a groan, Rus stands up and schlepps his way across the dingy basement. Gingerly, he picks Edge’s leg up to place on the pillow stack he had oh so carefully made for him on top of a bin. Who knew _he_ would have to be the responsible one here. 

He rolls his shoulders, mentally preparing himself to give him another quick burst of healing. It’s technically a bit early for his next dose, but might as well do it while he’s up. Neither him or Red are doctors; any medical knowledge on their parts comes from personal experience in caring for their bros. Red, naturally, has more practice with the whole patching up broken bones thing, even if his ability to heal is even shittier than Rus’. 

That first night, they came up with a semi unofficial schedule. About every three hours or so, whichever of them is at the house needs to hit Edge up with a small boost of green magic. That way, Edge’s bones aren’t forced together too quickly, he gets to experience more regular pain relief and Red and Rus don’t accidentally pass the fuck out because of excessive magic drain. Win-win-win right there.

Hands heating in preparation, Rus rolls up Edge’s pyjama pants. It’s almost off-putting to see the edgelord wearing soft flannel instead of impossibly tight leather or denim; even if those are the only things that can fit over his bandages, seeing Edge in the loose fabric is ringing sirens in Rus’ mind to warn for an incoming apocalypse.

The trickle of magic lasts a minute, maybe two at the most, fading away in pale wisps like smoke from a cigarette. Rus’ distal phalanges are still burning pleasantly, as if he had been holding them up to a bonfire for too long after walking around gloveless in the chilly Snowdin air. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to repeat the process for his broken arm; although injuries knit together best with direct contact, the magic still flows throughout the body, healing whatever needs to be done. Rus shakes his hands out.

Looking up, Edge still looks pretty pissy. There’s nothing Rus can do about that; Edge always looks pissy. This time, though, the resting bitch face is probably still from being caught getting up. Sucks for him.

Edge’s mouth, however, isn’t as turned down. Rus is pretty sure there’s even less tension at the corner of his eye sockets. The healing helped, even if he won’t admit it.

Rus tugs the pant leg back into place. Satisfied, he straightens up, stretching his cramped back before relaxing back into his normal slouch. Putting on his best Older Brother voice, he points at Edge’s injuries. “stop aggravating it. that’s how you end up with something permanently fucked because it never healed right, dumbass.”

“I know that,” Edge snarls, fussily adjusting his leg because hello, control freak alert on aisle three. 

There’s something in his tone, though, other than the grump… something a bit more bitter. Rus briefly examines his other scars — or at least the ones he can see. How many injuries has Edge suffered over the years? How many were given any chance to heal? And he means _properly_ heal, not just some half-assed bandaid equivalent from Red while they were hiding out in a dingy back alley. Certainly not the deep one crossing his eye socket; the crack in the bone is too deep, nearly splitting his skull in some places despite what must be years of remodeling. How is something like that not a death sentence in this world?

Forcibly pushing back that thought, Rus sighs and wordlessly gets back to work.

And starts plotting on more ways to keep Edge occupied.

* * *

Hours pass. 

Lunch is an ordeal in and of itself. Edge refuses to let Rus be in charge of lunch, which is understandable; it isn’t exactly hidden knowledge among their alternates that he should be let nowhere near food that requires more prep than a simple nuking in the microwave. Hell, even then it’s questionable; Rus can admit to some of his faults, thanks. And unfortunately, they used up the last of their leftovers for breakfast.

The problem is, if Rus isn’t allowed to be the chef du jour, that leaves Edge to take the role by process of elimination. Normally, there would be no complaints about that. Then again, _normally_ , Edge doesn’t have an arm in a sling and a leg in their best approximation of a cast.

“Take me upstairs,” he grits out between those knife-sharp teeth. “This. Instant.”

Rus can’t wait for Red to come back.

“what about the words ‘you need to stay off your broken leg’ do you not understand, exactly?”

“Strange, I was wondering the same for you and the phrase ‘mind your own fucking business.’”

Rus rubs his hand over his face. Knowing him, he probably just smeared layers of grease and other machine gunk all over the bone. Great. Just what he needs to begin this fine afternoon. “look. red left me in charge here.”

“I’m an _adult_ ,” Edge whines, sounding very much like an adult and not like someone who needs Rus to paint stripes onto his shirt with the ancient can of red paint he found tucked away in the corner. Clearing his throat, he argues, “And I’m my brother’s commanding officer; if anyone’s in charge here, it’s me.”

“yeah. how ‘bout no.” Resisting the urge to take out his temptingly full package of cigarettes from his hoodie, Rus leans back against the wall. Somehow, he has a funny feeling they are going to be here a while. “this isn’t guard shit, and i don’t care what you think about that. unless you can find a good way to convince me you can stay sitting off your leg and make food at the same time, you’re staying here. period.”

Sure enough, this is enough to stop another rebuttal from Edge. 

For a few seconds, that is.

Jutting his chin up, Edge looks him dead in the eye. Arrogantly, he states, “I have a rolling chair in my room. Take it to the kitchen, then shortcut me up to the chair. You may supervise,” he adds acidly, “if you don’t trust me.”

Welp. That’s actually not bad. Far better than the ‘fuck you, you’re not the boss of me’ and limp-marching his way upstairs that Rus had been half-expecting.

At least this way, lunch should be edible.

* * *

If there is one thing that Rus has figured out, it’s that working on the machine is a lot more pleasant after a filling meal and an extra serving of coffee strong enough to make even him sprout hair on his chest. Nothing like some good caffeine, especially when he has to play personal taxi to an injured skeleton.

Part of that might be because it helped fill the ‘edgelord productivity’ progress bar. Getting to make them lunch, even something simple like soup and sandwiches and half an old carrot to share, got Edge’s mind off of how he was out of commission for almost an hour. That may not sound like much, but considering how each day he has been getting on Rus’ nerves before he was even fully awake, it’s like his birthday and Gyftmas all in one. 

Even better, Rus has figured out a solution for the pesky problem of Edge’s boredom.

Currently, his chair and pillow box are stationed closer to the machine; if he stretched, Edge should have no problem in touching some of the outer paneling. His hands are full with all sorts of fun papers. Blueprints, inventory lists, schematics… the list goes on and on. Hell, there might even be some old research papers in the mix, written in a different language than the others. Even once he’s done sorting through everything to find what actually pertains to the machine, Rus figures he can keep Edge as his unofficial secretary.

This lets Rus tinker away at peace. Well, as peaceful as it gets when he’s stressed out about making things work properly, of course.

It’s only when he is rifling through Red’s toolbox when he notices that something’s a little off. Things have been too quiet at Edge’s ends of things. No fluttery shuffling of papers, no gentle tapping as he straightens the pile into something neater. Curiously, he abandons his search to see what’s going on.

Edge is squinting down at what looks to Rus like a blueprint for one of the inner mechanisms of the machine’s secondary power source. And not just a generic ‘I’m Edge and I’m displeased with everything in the multiverse, especially if it is anything remotely fun’ kind of squinting either. No, this is definitely an ‘I’m Edge and I currently can’t see shit, which is only adding to my displeasure with the multiverse' kind of squinting.

Does the guy not have reading glasses or something? Or would that be ‘admitting weakness’? Angel forbid that the edgelord isn’t the perfect specimen of everything.

Most monsters wouldn’t notice how the eye light of Edge’s cracked socket is more narrow than the other, the crimson glow a touch more dimmed. It’s even less likely that monsters who aren’t skeletons would know what this means: the vision in that eye is certainly worse than his other — and that’s not taking into account the quality of sight in that eye to begin with. Fuck, if Rus would (metaphorically) kill to have his own pair of specs with him at the moment, chances are Edge would too.

Well, best to leave him to struggle at his own pace. It’s not like Rus can pull a proper prescription out of Red’s toolbox, and chances are it would be easier to convince this place’s Asgore to make a murder ban before Rus could get Edge to admit he needs help here. Might as well save them both the headache.

Before he knows it, Rus is over halfway done rewiring the control panel. It may not sound like much, but considering how fried they were, it’s fair to say that he has had a good day.

Surprisingly, though, that accomplishment isn’t the most noteworthy part.

He and Edge have been weirdly civil. Sure, they’ve had their rough patches — especially this morning — but by their standards, this is nearly miraculous. Since lunch, things have been chill. Neither of them are snarling at each other, there are no hidden jabs… They’re just… working. Nicely.

Rus doesn’t hate it.

“hey, have you seen the three quarter inch wire loom tee?” he asks distractedly, pinching the set of wires in one hand as he sweeps his other around the mess of tools around him. He took it out several steps ago, and hell if he knows where it ended up.

Edge doesn’t even look away from his papers. “Check under the ratcheting crimper.”

Sure enough, there it is, along with the extra he had grabbed just in case. “thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

This was another pleasant surprise. It turns out that Edge understands more about the machine — more specifically, the mechanical aspects — than Rus would have ever expected.

When he had brought it up, Edge basically brushed him off. Back when he was a kid and before they had the house, he explained, Red used to help him with his traps. With time, Edge had picked up some stuff. Mostly tools, but Rus can tell that Red managed to pass on some scientific principles along the way.

In some ways, none of this should be too shocking. The technical know-how side of things is just as important as the physics when it comes to making the machine work. And constructing puzzles and traps… that’s all technical know-how with a smattering of applied physics to help the box drop.

With the wire loom tee back where he needs it, Rus gets back to work. His hands are starting to cramp up, an irritating consequence of dealing with the finicky little wiring panel for hours on end. Sitting back on his heels, he flexes his joints before grabbing a heavy set of wire cutters. The sooner he can get this over with, the better. He twists to look deeper inside, double-checking everything. “nice,” he mumbles under his breath. Content with his assessment, he lets himself relax for a minute.

He might have let himself relax a little too much, though, based on how the cutters fall from his hand. Whoops.

Rus watches as the tool hits the floor with a loud clank and Edge flinches in response. He fucking _flinches_ , the pillow stack beneath his leg shifting from it. Then, with a wince, he rubs at his eye sockets.

Huh.

Now, this isn’t exactly Rus’ best lightbulb moment. It takes a few moments of flickering before everything comes together, and even then, the bulb is dim and could go to be replaced. The flinch and the wince. Earlier, the squinting and the deliberate quietness. Hell, maybe even the abnormal lack of hostility and aggression. Add that all in with a comment Rus remembers Red casually making in the past about his brother, and it all paints a picture. Not necessarily the clearest one, but Rus can at least parse out what the scribbles probably mean without needing to ask for help. 

On top of everything else, Edge has a skull-stabbing headache. 

Most likely.

Eyeing the nearby shelf of various chemical products, Rus considers his options. He could just ask Edge, but he already knows he will deny anything being wrong. Even if he has a track record of being able to suss out lies, he isn’t infallible. Trying to search his face for pain is fruitless; even if the dude didn’t already have more than his fair share of injuries to screw with the results, Edge’s expression is always too guarded. Life in Underfell with Red as his bro has really upped the quality of his poker face. He is also stubborn as hell, which only adds to the challenge of getting him to admit to any ‘weakness’. 

Looks like the only choice left is what Rus would regrettably like to call the asshole option. For Edge’s sake, Rus hopes that his suspicions are off.

Making sure he steers clear of the machine, Rus fiddles with his lighter as he scans labels to find the perfect material. The trick is to find something that will make a nice flash and pop while remaining easy to control. Minimal fumes and smoke would also be ideal.

“hey edge,” Rus calls out, grabbing his attention. He pours out a small amount of his explosive of choice on the floor, which already is enough to earn an incensed glare. Kneeling down, he mentally prepares himself to shortcut back a few feet; this might not be too dangerous, but better safe than sorry. Lighter ignited, he directs the flame to its target. “watch this.”

Success.

With a satisfyingly loud noise and bright flare, Rus’ little explosion goes off with a bang — literally and metaphorically speaking. Luckily for safety purposes, the fire burns out within seconds. But oh, was it ever a productive few seconds.

Before it even reached full potential, Edge was cringing, squeezing his eyes shut with a pained cry. He keeps his eyes closed, rubbing at his skull as he hisses, “What the _fuck_ was that for?” 

“testing purposes,” Rus shrugs, scuffing out the burn marks with his shoe. Out of respect for Edge, he keeps his voice low. It must not be quiet enough; Edge’s grimace increases. “why didn’t you tell me you had a headache, idiot — and don’t try to deny it. neither of us are that dumb.”

Edge puffs up, and Rus prepares himself for whatever argument he might throw his way. After a moment, though, he loses his fight and sighs. “I’ll be fine, it’s just a migraine.” Yeah, because _that’s_ comforting and not actually making things sound worse than what Rus was saying. “Just get back to work.”

“nuh-uh, edgelord. not happening.” Stars damned idiot. How is he even doing this right now? His injuries are bad enough; just because he has high HP and a fuckton of residual healing magic running through his system to help fuel him, it doesn’t mean he should try and push through the extra pain. Crossing over to Edge, Rus grabs the pile of papers, shoving them in his inventory. He can finish tidying them up in a bit.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Edge squawks indignantly. Rus stands by, making sure he doesn’t try to get up on his injured leg to argue with him face to face. When he doesn’t, Rus heads to the staircase to turn off the lights.

“not making your migraine worse, that’s what.”

“That’s completely unnecessary. It’s not that bad.”

 _Liar_. Pulling out his best card to prevent these protests from going any longer, Rus asks, “would red say the same thing?” A guilty silence answers him. “thought so.” More gently, he says, “rest up, edgelord.”

With that, he exits the basement, leaving Edge in peace.

For the time being, Rus sets himself up in the kitchen after shooting Red a quick text for advice. He can still get some work done. Spreading the papers out on the table, he picks up on where Edge was in his sorting while he waits for a response.

About an hour or so later, Rus can’t help but smile when he makes his way into the dark basement with some pills and a steaming cup of the tea Red told him to make. Edge is slumped back against his chair, head tilted up and eyes closed. Actually sleeping, and that is enough to make Rus move more cautiously so he won’t disturb him.

In his sleep, Edge still manages to look really tense, albeit slightly less pained. Slightly being the operative word here, considering what all his body is currently going through. Rus forces himself to swallow back any guilt for not noticing sooner; he was busy with the machine and Edge was the one who chose to keep working and not tell him. 

Edge also looks younger, he realises. It comes as a cruel reminder that Edge is the same age as Rus’ little bro. That underneath the scars and the sneering and the LV, there lies a skeleton who is just as young as Blue, even if his universe won’t allow him to be. A skeleton whose initial reaction to waking up in immense pain after having the shit beat out of him was to worry about the safety of his older brother and try to help him. Who comforted Rus, even though they can hardly stand each other.

Edge, who is hard and resistant because that is the only way to survive.

With those thoughts running through his mind, Rus places the cup of tea and pills down within arms reach of the edgelord and leaves.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge reluctantly gets up close and personal with Rus as they spend more time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... here's a surprise chapter I had no plans on writing. Gotta love when that happens.
> 
> No additional warnings for this chapter. But as always, if there's something you feel that I missed, please let me know!

If there is one thing growing up in Underfell has provided him, Edge would have to say that it is the ability to appear cool and collected even when facing the greatest adversity.

In battle, this has always been one of his strengths. Red, naturally, is still better than him in this aspect; when his brother wants to put on a mask, he makes sure that nothing in this world can tear it away from him. Edge’s poker face is still rather remarkable, though, if Snowdin’s whisperings are to be believed. According to Red’s reports, he hadn’t broken a sweat until he shortcutted them back to the house after his most recent injuries.

That, of course, brings him back to his current issues.

Though the pure annoyance Rus embodies may not be among the challenges he has become accustomed to, that doesn’t mean that the talent doesn’t come in handy. So far, he would like to say that he has been faring decently. Edge has managed to tamper down the endless impulses to fight back against Rus, out of respect for him being both his guest and his current healer.

That doesn’t mean, however, that Edge hasn’t been mentally repeating the mantra of ‘ignore him’ for the past few hours.

Spine ruler-straight out of habit — and because it puts less pressure on some of his injuries — he sits miserably in the living room with Rus. Ugh. Still waiting for the last of his replacement parts, Rus seems to have taken the lack of work to his own advantage, using his free time to irritate Edge once more. Making up for lost time, perhaps. Wandering aimlessly, his alternate has been torturing him with an impromptu routine of so-called ‘comedy’.

If that wasn’t intolerable enough, there’s also the unending restlessness. What he would give to be back on his feet again. Vacations have never been an idea Edge has particularly enjoyed. Being forced to partake in one when he doesn’t even have the ability to walk around freely only solidifies his distaste. He can’t even watch Mettaton reruns, for fuck’s sake! Barely five minutes into the first episode, Rus’ skull had gone sickenly ashen at the violence, leaving Edge to flip the television over to whatever tapes Red has accumulated from the dump over the years. 

Stupid other universes and their weak sensibilities. He probably is anticipating the repair of the machine more than his alternate at this point.

“hey, wanna hear a knock-knock joke?” Rus smirks, as though he hasn’t already subjected him to far too many.

Absolutely fucking not.

Giving up on his goal to stay collected, Edge rises to his feet. Immediately, he grimaces at the shooting pain that runs up his leg, an unpleasant spike to what he had been managing to almost ignore thus far. Shifting the bulk of his weight to his other side, he slowly breathes out his nose, clenching his jaw shut. Barely, he succeeds in holding back a pained gasp.

Nearly tripping in his haste to stand up, Rus rushes over to him. “what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he squawks. Pushing him back down on his seat, Rus immediately starts fussing at him again, cursing under his breath at his ‘dumbass antics’. If Edge were to close his eyes, he could almost picture a shorter skeleton doing the same thing, fiery eye lights burning in his direction.

That, of course, is ruined as soon as Rus calls him out by name — and by that he means Edge, not his birth name — as he mutters about Underfell bullheadedness.

“I’m just walking to the kitchen,” he groans, resisting the urge to bang his head against the back of the chair. Stars, he hates this.

“you’re not supposed to be on your feet, edgelord.”

“I wasn’t going to be standing for long,” Edge protests. It’s the truth; as much as he wants to get away from Rus for a bit, he knows he won’t be able to stay up for much more than a minute if the current screaming from his leg is any indication. “And I was planning on using these.” 

In a flourish, he summons up a set of crutches out of bones — a too familiar shape of a construct, in Edge’s opinion. He judges it as his best set so far; nice and sturdy, both of them are coincidentally similar in shape to the broken femur he needs to use them for. 

Shaking his head, Rus’ voice bears no argument as he says, “not happening. you shouldn’t be wasting magic all willy nilly like that; everything you’ve got should be going to your healing.”

Oh. Edge had never thought of that before. It really puts into perspective all the times his injuries have lingered for weeks, despite his high HP, as he went back to his daily routine. He dismisses the constructs without further argument; even on the off-chance that his alternate is lying to him, it probably isn’t the worst idea to save his energy.

“here,” Rus sighs. He holds out two similarly shaped crutches, glowing with the warm, near fluorescent honeyed tone of his magic. “use these to get to the kitchen. but you better get your pointy ass on your rolling chair.”

Rolling his eyes, Edge takes the gift. “Fine.” 

Moving slowly, he can’t help but feel awkward as he hobbles his way to the stove. His rolling chair is right there, but he waits to sit down until he grabs the tea kettle. Still on edge — and, honestly, fuck Sans for sticking him with his new name and himself for accepting it — the idea of a soothing cup to help distract him from everything sounds ideal.

He hates this so much. 

He hates being alone with Rus, but he hates knowing that Red is on shift alone even more. Yes, he knows that the culprits of the attack are in custody. He _knows_ that; Undyne mentioned that in her last call herself. However, that isn’t as comforting as it should be. 

Red is out alone, with no backup. What if something happens? His older brother may be more than capable of taking care of himself, but all it takes is one time. One fucking time and Edge could lose him. It would be too easy. Red’s low HP isn’t uncommon knowledge in their neck of the Underground, and it should be obvious by now that Edge is temporarily out of the picture. On that front, he could be an easy target; without the presence of an ally, a monster becomes an easy topic. Add in the fact that his brother must be more tired than usual from pulling extra shifts and healing sessions, and… 

Edge really doesn’t want to think about it.

Between the rumbling of boiling water and his own thoughts, he doesn’t hear the creak of old springs that inevitably happen as soon as something shifts on the sofa.

Out of nowhere, there is a hand on his left shoulder. Unable to stop himself until it’s too late, he recoils, vertebrae cracking as he whips his head around. It’s Rus.

It’s just Rus.

Eyes squeezing shut, Edge forces himself to take a deep breath. _Fuck_. His tirage of internal curses directed at himself only continues as Rus ushers him to the rolling chair he had forgotten about, scolding him along the way.

Edge should know better than to let his guard down like that. He knows that his peripheral vision is limited in his bad eye. _Especially_ when he isn’t concentrating on his surroundings to make up for it. For the most part, Edge doesn’t tend to think about the limits placed upon him by that particular injury; as far as he is concerned, he had adjusted to his worsened vision in his scarred socket long before he was out of stripes. To be honest, he doesn’t fully remember what it was like before, having ‘proper’ vision.

Over the years, relying on environmental cues to make up for his difficulties has become second nature. Lacking in proper depth perception, he judges distance from perspective cues, subconsciously memorising the differences between relative and absolute sizes of objects to know where they are. He lets shadows and textures tell him a story, puzzling out how everything around him is interposed. Allowing his eyes to dart frequently, Edge can compensate for the increased blind spot on his left side without thinking about it. These days, he rarely feels the need to also turn his head to the side to boost his peripheral — a definite advantage when it comes to hiding his struggles from his opponents.

This, of course, is just how Underfell works. Though ‘kill or be killed’ is the official law of the land, Edge would like to think that there are choices in between. ‘Adapt or be killed’, perhaps, would be a more apt replacement.

Although sometimes, adapting sadly means spilling dust.

“aren’t you jumpy today,” Rus comments. It’s unclear whether he was ignoring the sparking magic around Edge’s hands or if he simply hadn’t noticed it. Grabbing the crutches away from him, he waves them in the air as he teasingly adds, “guilty conscious much?” He takes advantage of his grip on Edge’s shoulder, forcing him to sit down.

No. Not a grip, not forcing. It’s just a gentle touch, with less pressure than Edge would use to pet Doomfanger. Not only that, but he keeps it on his left shoulder; even if Rus knew about his discomfort around not being able to see as well on that side, it would be a kindness. Someone who would want to hurt him would focus on his right side. His injured side. Rus should have absolutely no motivation to cause him more harm. 

After having spent so much time helping Edge recover, it would be illogical.

“hey, edgelord?”

“What?!” he snaps. His voice is a touch too shrill, a touch too loud. 

Rus frowns, taking him all in. Edge really, _really_ doesn’t like the way the other skeleton seems to be assessing him. Pointing to the tea kettle, he says, “do you have a migraine again? you’re acting weird.”

Edge can’t help but clench his jaw — an awful habit, really — as he considers how to respond.

On one hand, lying would absolutely serve to his advantage. Rus was more than considerate — almost annoyingly so — once he found out yesterday. Surely, he would finally leave him in peace if he thought Edge had another one now. However, that would mean lying to a Judge. And, even if Rus did believe him, he would most likely tell Red about it and he would have to find an excuse not to take his medicine again and countless other problems he hasn’t yet considered.

Telling him the truth, though… Edge isn’t sure if he can. Granted, the words ‘I couldn’t fucking see you because you snuck up on my bad side, and around here, random monsters touching you out of nowhere typically precedes a bad fucking time’ aren’t physically hard to say. But that’s not the kind of information he can share with just anyone. That is the kind of thing he would say to his older brother, who is aware of his weaknesses and has protected him through thick and thin and who loves him, albeit in his admittedly crude and crusty way.

No, this is _Rus_. Rus, who, even after living with them for almost two weeks, doesn’t know him in that same way. Who, even if he is from a supposedly ‘safer’ universe, isn’t _safe_. Not in the same way that Red is. Sure, Rus may be nearly harmless as a physical threat — ignoring, of course, the effects of his KR should he actually work up the efforts to attack him. However, that doesn’t mean that he won’t find ways to use this information against him. Just because Rus is helping him now, he could still choose to turn against him. Words that Red had drilled into him countless times as a babybones pass through his skull.

There is a difference between a trusted ally and a mostly harmless acquaintance.

“edge?” Rus asks, walking easily around the chair to look him eye to eye. Kneeling with his stars damned hand still resting on his shoulder, some sort of expression covers his face. Concern, Edge realises, just in time for him to say, “you still with me here?”

Knowing that he might regret it later, Edge sighs. “I’m fine.”

Rus looks skeptical, understandably so. If Edge was in his shoes, he would be too. “you sure?”

“Yes.”

“no migraine?”

“No migraine,” he confirms. “Just…” 

Edge trails off as the tea kettle whistles. Before he can ask, Rus takes it off the stove for him, following along while Edge makes the slow, one-legged scoot to the cupboard on his chair. Luckily, the tea he wants is stored on a lower shelf that he can still reach without standing.

‘just?”

“Don’t sneak up on my left side like that. You’re… you’re lucky I didn’t attack you, honestly,” he admits, bile building in his throat. He could have _killed_ him — and probably would have if his physical reflexes weren’t slowed by his injuries. Because of this, Edge feels like he can no longer hesitate. “I… I don’t react well when I can’t see. Instincts, and all that.”

“oh.” Rus’ face goes pale, blank of the mild glow of his normal magic and of any jovial expression. “sorry,” he apologises stiltedly. When Edge turns the chair a bit, making it easier to see him, he takes in the way Rus awkwardly rubs at the back of his neck. “i didn’t know.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

Unsure of how and if he should continue this line of conversation, Edge goes back to making his tea. The slight weight of Rus’ hand still rests on his shoulder, each metacarpal and phalange feeling so obvious through the light fabric of his shirt. Edge swallows past his discomfort, mentally shaking himself. It’s fine, even if it does make preparing a cup a bit more difficult. Then again, it can’t be any worse than the fact that he is making it while sitting down at a counter set for someone of his rather considerable height.

Right before he opens up his tea, he has an idea. Without bothering to turn and make eye contact, Edge stiffly asks, “Would you like some tea?” He might as well offer, considering how the other skeleton appears as though he won’t be leaving him alone anytime soon.

“why not?” he shrugs. “that sounds like a _brew_ - _tea_ -ful idea.”

“Fuck you,” Edge sighs, although his response is rather by rote. “For that, I should honestly take away your tea privileges.”

“ooh~ someone’s feeling test- _tea_.”

“ _Rus_ ,” Edge says warningly.

“fine, fine,” he laughs, shortcutting across the kitchen to avoid being hit with a boiling hot tea kettle. “where are the mugs?”

* * *

Making tea for the two of them is a stranger process than Edge was expecting. 

First of all, he is fairly surprised that Rus even accepted; his alternate never struck him as much of a tea drinker. Then again, it’s socially acceptable to add honey to it, so perhaps he decided to take on the beverage as an excuse to consume more of that sticky sweet vice of his.

The second thing that throws Edge off is even more bizarre. As soon as Rus returned with everything he asked for to save him the trip of wheeling around, he got right back to resting his hand on Edge’s shoulder. In fact, unless he is mistaken, Rus has drawn even closer than before. Strange.

But… not entirely unpleasant?

Truly strange.

Other than that, though, everything is fairly standard. The second Edge cracks open the canister of tea, a subtle floral scent wafts through the kitchen. He breathes it in, closing his eyes. There is always something oddly special about this moment. Not anticipation, exactly; although, he is eager to be able to sit and sip a nice cup or two. Maybe it’s the memories associated with golden flower tea specifically, of getting to unwind with his superior officer — and friend? — after a long day’s work.

Oh stars, it’s a good thing Red can’t hear his thoughts right now. His brother would never let him live down that particular brand of soft weakness.

Edge carefully spoons in an appropriate amount of tea into his teapot. Now that the water has cooled a bit, it’s ready to be poured in so it can steep. Throughout it all, there is still the feeling of hoodie-covered bones draped across him, carefully manipulated to avoid putting pressure on any injuries.

Why is Rus doing this?

Is this some sort of strange intimidation tactic? A constant, physical reminder of Rus’ presence to make sure that Edge doesn’t get himself into trouble, perhaps. It truly isn’t necessary. Yes, he broke his word by not going immediately to sit down once he reached the kitchen, but that wasn’t on purpose! Besides, by now Edge doesn’t want to stand up unless he has to; he is really beginning to feel the effects of his carelessness. 

Or maybe it’s simply an Underswap thing. From what he has noticed, the two brothers can often be found in each other’s personal bubbles. From teasing noogies to casual hugs to lounging across the other’s body while sharing a chair and blanket during movie nights, physical contact seems normal for Rus and Blue. After having stayed here so long, it could be that Rus has just shifted that habit over to Edge. He wouldn’t have thought that he was so used to Edge’s presence to do so; the Underfell skeleton would have assumed that Rus was closer to Red. Then again, Red’s not here. Plus, the last person to use his older brother as an armrest ended up promptly in the dustpan.

So what if Rus is comfortable enough with him to invade his space through casual touch without thinking about it? Edge can deal with it.

And if some strange part of Edge wants to push his way even closer to Rus? Well, that must be some kind of odd, residual side effect brought on by all the healing he has been through these past few days. Yes, that’s it. It’s nothing but a ridiculous association he has made between those hands and feeling slightly less like his body is actively trying to self-destruct. 

Nothing more.

Soon enough, he has two steaming cups of tea sitting on the counter, ready to be enjoyed. Grabbing the half-empty teapot with a dishtowel, he spins the chair around to face his alternate. “Can you take these to the living room?”

“i could,” he responds teasingly, a smile lighting up his face. In what should have been a predictable response, he doesn’t move an inch.

“Will you _please_ take these to the living room?”

Rus’ smile grows, and _oh_. There is a subtle honeyed glow rising high on his cheekbones, making his normally subtle freckles stand out. It’s… it’s a rather nice look for him. “as you wish.”

* * *

Thankfully, Edge’s journey back to the living room is a lot easier than when he went to the kitchen; apparently, he should resolve to keep his chair easily accessible at all times until his leg has fully recovered. Rus has settled himself on one side of the sofa, the two cups of tea resting on coasters in front of him. Taking the hint, Edge returns there rather than to the room’s other chair.

Transferring himself from the rolling chair to the sofa feels far more difficult of a task than it should be. From getting the chair positioned as close as possible to navigating around the coffee table, he might as well be navigating an obstacle course trap. By the time he gets himself settled down, Edge is seriously considering asking for his next healing session to be moved up an hour or two. Instead, he bites back a groan, adjusting his leg. As much as the mere concept disturbs him, Edge rests his foot on the table. It is to elevate it, of course; anything to reduce the swelling of his inflamed magic. That logic unfortunately doesn’t help in reducing the mental discomfort of putting his damned foot so close to food products.

“here,” Rus says, handing him his cup. His favourite cup, actually, not that Edge had mentioned that fact to him. 

“Thank you.” Swirling the amber liquid, he holds back a reluctant smile as Rus loudly slurps his first sip, only to cough and sputter. Most likely, the beverage is yet too hot for him.

Edge closes his eyes, letting the familiar sound of explosion sounds effects wash over him in the same way as the comforting heat of his tea through his gloves. It seems that Rus enjoys his cheesy science fiction just as much as Red. Good to know.

He isn’t sure, exactly, when he realises that Rus has gone back to touching him again. It’s very subtle, perhaps moreso than before. Little more than the brushing of shoulders, it still feels like a lot. Strangely enough, it reminds him of one of the first multiversal dinners he had attended with the others. Blue, eager to play host, had gone all out. Most of the food was homemade: creamy enchiladas, hearty salads, buttery biscuits. Other things, such as the cinnamon puppies and rich vanilla nice cream, were store-bought, but still delicious.

Heavy, Edge decides, but addictive. That’s the feeling.

Soon, Rus is all but reclining on his shoulder, sipping on his tea now that it has cooled to a more tolerable level. Edge can feel every single movement he makes. When he leans forward, enthralled by the somewhat predictable movie plot. The slight hiccup he makes when he accidentally drinks his tea too quickly. The way he slumps back as he yawns.

Finally, Edge asks, “Why are you..?” Words failing him, he awkwardly waves his hand around, trying not to spill tea on them as he gesticulates.

Rus blinks, his head tilting just the slightest bit as he clearly processes the question. “huh?”

Then again, it must be hard to process a question when it wasn’t worded clearly to begin with.

“The touching,” he clarifies, barely keeping his voice below a yell of frustration. The last thing he needs is for Rus to think that he’s angry about it. He’s not upset; just confused. 

“ah.” Averting his gaze to the side, he shrugs, causing the fabric of their shirts to rub against each other. “dunno. you’re warm, though.”

Out of all the puzzling answers he could have given… “I’m sorry?”

Still looking away, Rus stares past the television. That pretty blush has returned again, brighter than before. “i said you’re warm. kinda like a giant, living heat pack, you know? it’s nice.”

_It’s nice._

“Oh.” The word is more mouthed than it is said. Still, based on the way Rus straightens up, obviously putting space between them, it must be at least somewhat noticeable.

“i can stop. if you want.”

Helpless to the way those two small words hit him so much deeper than they have any right to, Edge finds himself responding, “I don’t mind.”

A pause. Something else — an enemy spaceship, Edge believes — explodes onscreen. Then, grinning unapologetically once more, Rus flops back against him. “good. this way i can make sure you stay out of trouble, edgelord.” Edge scoffs, but he can hear the humour in the statement.

Not long after, they finish up their tea. Rus hasn’t moved — other than the odd shift for comfort’s sake, of course. By now, his weight is a strange source of comfort, secure like his ragged scarf that had once been large enough for him to use as a blanket. A small snore snatches his attention away from the movie’s credits. This is the first true indication that Rus has fallen asleep; it’s hard to tell with him, sometimes. For a moment, Edge considers nudging him awake. But, then he takes in the dark hollows under his eyes. 

He leaves Rus be.

It’s solely out of consideration for his alternate’s health, of course. Yes. That’s why he decides not to disturb him, even when drool is threatening to leave his mouth to land on Edge’s shirt. Rus has been under a considerable amount of stress, and he has been using more magic than usual. All of these things when combined with his recent difficulties in sleeping should result in a need for extra rest. 

So, fully convinced by his reasoning, Edge wraps his arms — or rather, arm, since the other is still in a sling — around Rus, who snuffles sleepily and curls up closer. Practically against his chest, to be precise, sharing the same couch cushion. Something in his soul unclenches when he holds him.

He tries not to think too much about it.

Just as fast as Rus had fallen asleep, he wakes up, blinking heavily. _Again, just like Doomfanger_ , Edges notes with amusement. “hey,” he yawns, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “wassup?”

“The movie finished.”

“so it did.”

Neither of them make any attempts at continuing the conversation. Likewise, there is no initiative between them to separate from their near-cuddling. Granted, Edge isn’t supposed to move much right now, given his injuries. Plus, Rus tends to be on the more slothlike side at the best of times. Tie in the soothing cups of tea they had shared and the quiet ambience of the afternoon, and this isn’t too strange. None of this should be a surprise.

Then again, normally, he and Rus aren’t snuggling like lovesick teenagers.

“so…”

“Yes?” 

“i’m not dreaming, right?” he asks. There is the barest hint of slur in his voice, showcasing how he isn’t fully awake yet.

“No,” Edge responds, mildly puzzled at the strange question. “Why do you ask?”

Rus doesn’t answer, only hums nonsensically. Nuzzling against Edge’s button-down with another mumbled “warm”, his eyes fall back shut. Edge accepts it as an answer and exhales the last of his tension. Maybe spending so much time with his alternate isn’t as bad as he expected, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a day of unpleasant, anxiety-inducing surprises for Rus.

Leaning back on the back two legs of his chair, Rus lets the sound of his brother’s voice wash over him, enjoying every second of it. So far, it has been a pretty good day. Red’s scavenging through the dump yesterday after his shift provided them with all sorts of goodies, including some junk that, when cleaned up properly, should work just fine to help fix the machine. A full box of packaged oatmeal makes it so that Rus can feed himself and Edge without either of them dying. It’s even pretty tasty, so score for Red. Speaking of his patient and breakfast, things have been more than decent on that front too. Doomfanger had plunked down onto the bed with Edge just as Rus came up with a tray of food. Add in some new books from Red’s trip to Waterfall, and Edge has been a downright good boy today, absolutely absorbed by his new reading material.

In fact, Rus doubts that anything could spoil his mood right now.

“They’re back, Papy.”

Well… except maybe that. That could just do it.

Rus freezes with his spoon halfway to his mouth. Gulping soundlessly, he returns it down to his bowl. Chances are, Blue wouldn’t like it if their daily phone call was interrupted by him choking on his oatmeal. 

Besides… Rus isn’t very hungry anymore.

Hoping that his tone comes across as even, he asks, “are you sure?” Maybe it isn’t them. Not yet, please not yet. It’s too early for the human to come; he’s still gone, so it _has_ to be too early.

“Of course I’m sure,” Blue says. Rus can imagine him shaking his head fondly at him, not taking in the severity of the situation. “I’ve seen them with my very own eyes. They came into town first thing this morning.”

Oh shit. 

Maybe it won’t be that bad, this time around. After… after all, Blue’s still there to call him, right? Yeah. Plus, if the human _was_ going around and dusting monsters, his brother probably would’ve led with that. That seems like something Blue would have mentioned. The human must not have noticed his absence or something, right?

Yeah, and Greater Bun has suddenly gained the ability to turn purple and to fly upside and backward at the same time.

Swallowing dryly, Rus asks, “so… what have they been up to?” Sometimes, the human just putters around, nearly innocent. It could be okay this time.

“Oh, you know,” Blue says flippantly, “the normal stuff. The town has been so crowded today, with everyone gathered for the tree relighting ceremony.”

“sorry?” Rus blinks, processing. _Everyone?_ _Tree relighting ceremony?_

“Papy, were you zoning out again?” Apparently. When he doesn’t answer, Blue sighs into the phone. “For the record, I’m shaking my head at you right now. Like I was saying, the annual tourists from New Home came in today.”

Oh.

Oh.

Relief flooding in, Rus lets out an awkward laugh. Hopefully, the shakiness doesn’t translate over the phone. “right. i bet it was a real en _light_ ening experience.”

“Papy!”

“i’m _tree_ -ly sad i missed it,” he grins as he flips his lighter around in his hoodie pocket. “you know how the gyftmas tree relighting ceremony really _spruces_ up the place.” The sound of his brother’s annoyed groan brings helium balloon lightness to his soul.

This lightness is popped as soon as Red shortcuts into the room. Eye sockets wide and magic burning around him in a blood thick haze, in this moment he looks the part of a dangerous Underfell monster.

Keeping Red within his vision scope, Rus slowly says, “uh, bro? i’mma have to call you back.”

Red doesn’t even wait for him to hang up before snapping, “where’s the boss?”

“in his room, for once. why?” But Red is already halfway up the stairs. Noticing the wild flare in his eye lights, Rus asks, “red… what’s going on?”

“nunya business, taleverse.” 

Without a second’s delay, he vanishes in a shortcut, presumably the rest of the way into Edge’s room. This is all but confirmed by the sound of Edge’s muffled shriek of “Brother, what the _fuck_?!” After that, Rus can only hear vague whisperings. No words, though; he is too far away to make anything out.

Something seems off. Okay, it’s pretty obvious that something is off; Rus may not be the most well-versed in fell verse _anything_ , but even he knows that Red’s grand entrance can’t mean anything good. His point is, the words coming from upstairs may be inaudible but he can still catch the tone and it makes it _really_ tempting to go up and eavesdrop to figure out what the hell is going on.

Deciding to risk it, Rus stands to his feet, only to freeze when the bedroom door slams open.

Edge emerges, Red at his heels. Totally transfixed, Rus can only stare as his alternate strides forward, barely limping. The way he shifts his weight to his right side would only be noticeable to someone who knows, someone who has seen what lies under those tight pants and how did he even get those overtop of the makeshift cast and his arm should still be in a sling, why isn’t that bandage-bulked arm in its sling? In full guard uniform, Edge begins what must be a painful walk down the stairs.

“edge?” he swallows, the ghost of his breakfast burning its way up from his non-existent stomach. “red? what’s going on?”

Neither brother answers. Edge’s face is as stony as it gets; Rus can’t read anything from that icy cold glare. He also can’t read anything from Red, but that has more to do with the other skeleton refusing to make any eye contact with him. Any other time, Rus would call him out on being an asshole. Now, though… he just wants to know what’s happening.

At the last possible moment, Red stops at the front door. Snow blows inside, most of it getting trapped in the fluff of his hood. Turning around, he says, “see ya later, honeybun. don’t bother waiting on us for supper.” He steps out to join his brother, only to snort. “oh yeah. don’t burn the house down when we’re gone, ‘kay?”

And with that, Red and Edge are gone, leaving a chill in their absence. Needless to say, Rus' foolish belief that nothing could spoil his mood has also disappeared. 

Feeling weirdly shaky from that encounter, Rus goes to put his bowl in the sink. Not wanting to fully wash it yet, he quickly rinses the inside; besides, there isn’t any point of scrubbing away the remains of his oatmeal until he goes upstairs to collect Edge’s dishes too. He also ignores the mustard-crusted plate that’s already sitting there. _Later_ , he tells himself. Right now, he needs a task that will distract him from his worries about Red and Edge's strange departure.

* * *

Focusing his energy on the machine, as it turns out, is not a solution.

First off, there’s the fact that his current work would be a lot easier with a second person. Sure, he can manage by himself; angel knows he really had no choice back home before he had gotten it to work for the first time. Every few steps or so, though, Rus finds himself asking someone for the doohickey over by the whatchamacallit under the whatzit. Each time, no one responds, which just goes to remind him that Red and Edge are gone. He sighs, wiping his hands over his shorts as he grabs the doohickey himself.

Then, there’s the whole _quiet_ thing. During his first few days here, he had Red’s near-constant slurry of curses as background noise when they worked. Rus can confidently say that his vocabulary had grown over that time. Since Edge’s injuries, his alternate has also added to the atmosphere. Although not as talkative as his older brother, there was still _something_. Edge’s steady breathing, his crooning to the hell beast who would occasionally wander in until it realised that Rus was in the room, the flipping of pages. The lack of all this makes it weirdly difficult for Rus to keep on track and away from his thoughts. It’s a bit of a pain.

The last straw is when he realises that he has been staring at his screwdriver for who knows how long. Huh. Throwing it at Red’s toolbox in a fit of frustration, he gives up. Clearly, this isn’t working.

Having no idea of what he should do, then, Rus lies back on the basement floor. The rough cement is unpleasantly cold and hard, but he has definitely napped on worse surfaces; at least this is flat and dry. He stretches his arms out, wincing as his hand brushes against something metallic. Definitely Red’s ‘may or may not have dusted someone with this’ heavy-duty wrench. That thing _hurts_.

Luckily — or maybe unluckily — the phone rings. In a panic, Rus fumbles it from his pocket, not even bothering to look at the call display.

Did something happen? Do the brothers need him to be ready for something? Because it isn’t like he can go out and help them; even if he knew where the hell anything is in Underfell, that doesn’t make it anywhere near a good idea for him to go searching for them alone. So, why else would they call him? As a warning, maybe? But why would either of them take the time to phone him when it would be faster for Red to shortcut them here and tell him in person? Unless… oh stars, what if the phone call is because Red can’t do that?

With that last terrifying thought, Rus hurries to answer, managing to do it just after the second ring.

“Papy?”

“sans?” he responds, his voice catching in his throat. It’s just Sans — just Blue. As far as he knows, everything is just as fine with the Underfell brothers as it was a minute ago. 

Somehow, that still isn’t very comforting.

“Yes, brother. I know you said you’d get back to me,” he says, sounding more than a little frazzled, “but it’s been a few hours and you still hadn’t called and —”

Recognising the way that his pace is picking up, Rus goes almost automatically into big brother soothing mode. “hey, hey, it’s all right, bro. it’s all right. i just…” he exhales, scrubbing his hand over his eyes. “it’s been a day, and i completely lost track of time. sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, Papy.” 

Smothering what would definitely be a hysterical laugh — Blue really has no clue of how much worry he is holding right now — he pushes himself up to a seated position. Easier to talk that way. Easier to breathe.

"Papy," his bro starts as soon as the silence makes it obvious that Rus hadn't sorted out his own words yet, "what's going on?"

"no idea, bro," he exhales. "something with the fells."

Over the next several minutes, Rus manages to share all the details he can with Blue. Although, from an informational standpoint, it shouldn’t take anywhere near that long. The problem is, Rus’ mind is racing far too fast and in far too many different directions; his poor mouth has no way to keep up with the chaos, which consequently means that Blue has to sort through all his gibberish.

Somewhere along the way, Rus finds himself wandering upstairs. Doom is stationed on the couch, grooming himself, so he just sits down on the other side. Right now, he can’t bother hiding from the hell beast; if the cat doesn’t want to be there with him, he can leave himself. Hugging a slightly ragged throw blanket to his chest, he draws his knees up. Then, not wanting to wrestle between everything, he sets his phone to speaker mode and sets it on the arm of the couch to keep talking to Blue.

“Maybe we’re just overreacting,” Blue suggests. “There might have been an impromptu meeting with the Guard or something. Red isn’t exactly the most forthcoming of monsters, you know.”

“yeah. maybe.” Sure, Red had been in a bit of a mood when he had shortcutted in, but eh, it’s not like that’s a first. It’s nothing like the other day when Edge threw out the last of the mustard from the fridge. Even though it was completely rancid, Red was still pissed. Who knows? Maybe the answer is that Red ate an extra helping of grumpy nut cheerios this morning, which escalated his displeasure of having a surprise meeting. It’s possible.

“Well, I need to get going. Lesser Bun sprained his leg, and I’m covering his sentry shift tonight.”

“okay, bro. stay safe.”

“I will.” He pauses, adding, “Papy?”

“yeah?”

“Everything is going to be okay. I’m sure of it.”

Rus’ mouth upturns into the smallest smile. “i’m glad to hear that. i’ll update you on everything as soon as i can, all right?”

“That sounds like a plan. Bye, brother.”

“bye, bro,” he echoes. 

The click of Blue ending the call feels so loud. Doomfanger, it seems, agrees, glaring in the direction of the noise before pouncing off the couch to slink over to the kitchen.

* * *

Artificial sunlight disappears for the night before Rus gets any more news from either Red or Edge.

In that time, not a lot happens. The idea of a nap _sounds_ nice, but he is still too hyped up on anxious energy to sleep. He can’t find the drive to go down and try fiddling with the machine again, so he stays mostly in the living room. Television as a whole is a big nope; the only channel is Mettaton and Rus prefers all deaths in his tv shows and movies to be acted out, not displayed as a live reality show. He would go check out some of those new books Red found, but they are all in Edge’s room, so that feels like a breach of privacy. Playing with Doomfanger is also on the list of nopes; he would like to be able to return to Underswap in one piece.

In the end, he heats up some leftovers, hoping that nothing explodes — he will be damned if he sets something on fire after that being the one comment Red gave him before vanishing — and cracks open a new can of food for the cat. Normally, this is the time of day that Edge feeds the creature. Might as well try to keep some sense of normalcy in the house, even if it is for the inhabitant who hates Rus the most. Then, he returns to the living room to play possibly-damaged VHS roulette until the Underfell brothers return.

So far, Rus feels like he is losing. A vast majority of the screen is covered in wobbly static, the pictures wavering up and down, and most of the dialogue is muted by the ongoing fuzziness. Really, he should go change it and toss it in Red’s ‘try to make some g’ pile. But… that would mean getting up. So nah.

Luckily for him, the noise of the static isn’t enough to cover the sound of the locks clicking open.

Before he realises it, he has a blaster at the ready. Magic building in its jaws, Rus points it directly at the door, directly at the tall skeletal intruder —

“ _fuck!_ ”

Realising that he has a weapon summoned an inch away from Edge, he dismisses it in a panic. Orange magic scatters across the room, but Edge just quietly closes the door behind him.

“It’s fine. Good vigilance,” he remarks, not sounding like himself. Rather he sounds… like Rus, actually. Tired, without the energy to properly care about things. Like say, he doesn’t know, someone pointing a weapon in his fucking face?

Rus… he really doesn’t like that.

He especially doesn’t like that when he combines it with Edge’s slump as he locks the door, no longer putting on the mask of the invulnerable captain. This is setting off even more warning bells than the first time Rus saw him in fuzzy pyjamas. Something is seriously wrong here.

“where’s red?”

“At Grillby’s.” There is none of the bitterness or disgust in his voice that Rus was expecting. Just exhaustion, plain and simple. If anything, Edge sounds _understanding_ , like he would join his brother if he could.

Yeah, this really isn’t helping him feel any better about everything.

As soon as the last lock is triple-checked, Edge heads straight to the stairs. He doesn’t say another word to Rus, which is weird; he was expecting an interrogation about anything and everything that happened when he was gone. In fact, now that Rus thinks about it, Edge hasn’t made eye contact with him once since coming back. Huh. 

It isn’t until Edge’s leg buckles beneath him that Rus clues into the fact that it might be a very purposeful avoidance.

Shortcutting up, he catches him just under the arms, holding tight to Edge’s weirdly gritty armour. “whoa, there! you good, edgelo—” His voice cuts off the moment he looks up to Edge’s face. Seeing him eye-to-eye — really _seeing_ him — all he can do is freeze.

Edge’s LV is higher than it was this morning, and not just by a little bit.

The thing is Rus remembers the previous numbers. Like it or not, they were engraved into his skull the first time he Checked his alternate, a warning separate from whatever was in his flavour text. But this…

Rus braces himself, determined not to drop Edge because of the shock. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? It isn’t anger that he feels right now, a righteous rage of the deaths that those numbers represent. No. If anything, the shock of it all kills (heh) any anger that he might want to feel.

How could this have happened? What fucking happened when Red took Edge away?

But worse than the realisation and all the questions that it brings is taking a second look at Edge’s face. His expression screams of resignation, of miserable guilt. He knows. Edge knows, and he is waiting for a more official Judgement. He was expecting it.

Shit.

Deflating completely, Rus fights to tuck away any temptation of interrogating him. There is no point in it when he can already see Edge’s remorse; it isn’t like digging into him will bring back the lives of those he has killed. Instead, he gulps and decides to help Edge the rest of the way up the stairs.

“what do you need?” he asks carefully. Fresh LV is said to mess with a person, after all. Not that he would know for a fact; his only true experience is with the human, and they’re messed up in general. 

Plus… he doesn’t really want to try and think about that.

The point is, while Rus doesn’t want to treat Edge like an unstable beast or something, he also can’t be careless; his HP is far too low for that.

Slowly, Edge says, “I have some tea.”

“tea?”

He nods, body becoming noticeably tenser as Rus rearranges himself to help Edge hop up the stairs. Trying to remain in control, probably. “Not the one for migraines, whatever you do,” he instructs, his syllables clearly articulated yet so incredibly toneless (and how is this bugging Rus more than the actual LV?), “but the one in the dark blue container with the red label. It should help.”

“got it. blue container, red label. you get yourself settled, and i’ll be back with it, okay?”

Edge doesn’t respond. Still, Rus decides to go.

As soon as he gets back home, Rus is going to have to give Undyne all his thanks for teaching him to make tea during the anime nights they used to have. Angel knows that the skill is being put to the test with this whole Underfell adventure. This one has lots of little flower petals, something soothing that perfume the kitchen as soon as he opens the tin. Rus can see how this tea would be much better for an LV-agitated edgelord. The other tea, the one for migraines, was pungent, almost reminding him of Muffet’s gingerbread coffee. This though… just making it is making him kind of sleepy.

Along with the tea, he plates up some more leftovers. Edge might not have asked for it, but the guy probably needs some food too. Rus grabs a variety, unsure of what will settle the best. Then, not wanting to waste any time, he shortcuts right back to Edge’s door.

“i’ve got your tea,” he calls out, kicking it at the best approximation of a knock that he can make with his hands full. “am i good to come in?”

“Yes.”

Before Rus can try kicking the door again, Edge does him a favour and opens it for him. Already changed out of his Guard uniform, his resemblance to Rus is growing stronger by the moment. All it would take is a set of fanged dentures, a pair of gloves, and a sharpied scar covering his eye, and Rus could split the difference to make them look truly identical.

“here,” Rus says, thrusting the tall mug of tea over to him.

Edge takes his first sip before it is fully within his grasp. “Thank you.”

“no problem.” 

Shifting on his feet, he just stays in the middle of the room even as Edge goes to sit down on his bed. He nearly chugs his tea, making Rus wonder if he should have made a full pot to bring up instead. Soon, Edge sets the beverage on his nightstand, which seems just as good a cue as any.

“so... is there anything else you need?” he asks, placing the plate next to the mug; if Edge wants it, he can grab it himself. 

Edge opens his mouth. However, he snaps it back shut without uttering a single sound. Well, that wasn’t an obvious hesitation at all.

“what is it, edgelord? i’m offering here.”

Stubborn as always, he shakes his head. “It’s a bad idea. Ignore me.”

“well, now i’m just curious.”

Edge exhales loudly. Then, “Stay?”

Well then.

Now he understands why Edge claimed it was a bad idea. Rus personally would classify it as a big yikes, but that’s just semantics. The point is, the smart thing for Rus to do would be slowly back out of the room, because there is no way that this should end up well.

But there’s something _pleading_ in Edge’s eye lights. Something soft. Something _desperate_.

Shaking himself, Rus decides that he is only doing this because Edge doesn’t have his big bro right now. Nothing else. Just bros looking out for multiversal bros, right?

“okay. how about i read you something. if that will help you, of course,” he adds in a hurry. “if not, that’s totally —”

“I would like that,” Edge says with a small smile. And if it’s a bit strained, well, Rus can ignore that, given the circumstances.

“cool.” 

Edge chooses the book. To be precise, he selects the one he was reading before he left. That works for Rus; it may not be Snuggly Puppy or whatever the Underfell equivalent is — something about a rabbit, he thinks — but this ‘historical’ romance novel should still do the trick to get them to settle for the night.

Out of habit, Rus finds himself sitting right beside Edge, who scooches accommodatingly over to the side. As soon as he reaches Edge’s bookmark, he realises it isn’t necessary; this isn’t a picture book, after all, so Edge doesn’t need to be able to see. Still, he stays. Edge looks slightly less on edge (heh), so it can’t be a big problem.

Rolling his shoulders back, Rus starts reading.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still unsettled from his LV, Edge has some time to think while Rus slumbers peacefully beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for potential warnings.

Rus has nodded off, but Edge is still wide awake. Calmer, perhaps. More in control. But still awake.

Head fallen against Edge's shoulder, Rus is leaning surprisingly heavily for such a lithe skeleton. The book is still in his lap, left open to where he had drifted off from exhaustion. Reaching over, Edge places his bookmark back before setting it aside.

All things considered, today could have gone much worse. Much, much worse. 

It was only a matter of time, really, before this happened. The traitors had been caught and placed into custody; to the best of his ability, Edge had made sure of that. Judgement and execution — because what difference, really, is there in Underfell — were promptly arranged. With the list charges including treason among many other things, Asgore was all too eager for sentencing time.

To be honest, this bunch was a set of criminals Edge didn’t mind sending to the king, even though he knew without a doubt what the verdict would be — although, that could just be the fresh LV talking. This time off of active duty has given him plenty of opportunities to survey their case files, however, reminding him of all the harm they have already done to innocent citizens. Besides, even if he hadn’t, he would be a terrible liar if he didn’t admit that this was personal.

These are the monsters, after all, who are responsible for his injuries.

What truly sealed their fates is that what had happened was the best-case scenario, resulting in the fewest amount of casualties. The explosive burst of combined magic had been targeted in a way that it would not only destroy important royal monuments, but also take out far too many innocent bystanders. Red included, who would have died from the intent, no doubt whatsoever. Bearing the brunt of the attack was an easy decision in the moment, and one he would have repeated. Yes, it made the ensuing fight a lot more difficult — most of his severe breaks were a result of battered and weakened bones — but better that than more death. 

Better than the possibility of losing his older brother.

Today’s proceedings went differently than Edge was expecting. Normally, Asgore leaves Red alone responsible for the sentences: Judge, jury and executioner, all in one. But, even with their respective LV, it would have taken too long for Red’s karma to do its job; there were too many monsters involved, and while the king is perfectly content to watch his people suffer, he isn’t exactly renowned for his patience.

Hearing Asgore’s command to enter the Judgement hall didn’t come as a surprise to him. Putting aside the fact that he could serve as a witness should the tyrant have wanted to play more properly at true justice, it isn’t odd for Edge to be required to help in trial. Having a better grasp of control over his attacks than most members of the Royal Guard, especially one of his ranking, he often has the responsibility to beat the criminals down to a more reasonable HP for Red to deal the killing blow. The blow of judgement, as Asgore calls it; a true mockery of the concept.

But today, that wasn’t the case.

Edge has no idea why the king suddenly changed his mind and had him do this. To cruelly execute those monsters — slowly, sadistically — even if they were traitors. Some twisted form of retribution, perhaps? It was their faults, ultimately, that Edge is out of commission, and for all he knows, the king wanted them to truly feel the consequences of their actions.

All he knows is that the weight of the king’s decision is heavy on his soul.

At least, Edge reminds himself, Red was spared some of that weight. Even if the physical number of LV is less apparent in his brother, it doesn’t mean that he is completely free of the consequences. Righteously killing a guilty person doesn’t affect the Judge’s stats in the same way as a normal monster; some old magic about Justice being served to an appropriate degree. Edge, however, thinks it is nonsense. Violence is violence, no matter the reason. But who is he to complain, when those same puzzling principles spare his brother of some of this pain?

He can handle it. He _will_ handle it.

Or else.

A loud snore, rattling right next to his skull, brings Edge back into the moment. Sighing, he pulls his blankets up to keep his alternate more comfortable.

Rus, when he isn’t being a complete and total ass, is weirdly soothing to be around. Not an entirely new revelation, perhaps, but certainly a more recent one. Spending so much time with his alternate lately has really changed his perspective of him.

Sitting on the couch, sharing tea while Rus leaned against him. The way he seemed genuinely apologetic when Edge explained his discomfort from his issues — and how since, Edge has noticed him staying more often on his right side, as though to help. The kind — albeit annoying — way he acted when he had a migraine, going above and beyond his duty to make sure that Edge wasn’t as uncomfortable as he could have been.

After all these things, should it have been such a surprise that Rus didn’t just cuss him out when he saw the change in his stats? Edge doesn’t know. On one hand, there has definitely been an improvement between them with Rus staying here. However, not so long ago he wouldn’t have thought that there was any amount of improvement that would allow Rus to treat him so kindly.

It’s nice, in any case. Especially with the machine out of commission, this strange turn of heart in his alternate has been a breath of relief.

Going to the other universes can be so freeing after something unpleasant has happened in Underfell. It helps him hope that someday, maybe, his Underground could grow to be similar. That if they had the right people to guide them, things might not have to be so bad.

The problem is finding those right people. Once, when he was younger, more foolishly optimistic despite all of Red’s best efforts to the contrary, he thought that he could have been that person. That, obviously, was a delusion. Oh, he thought that being in the Royal Guard would help; by elevating his position, he assumed he would have more sway with the king.

Edge holds back a bitter laugh, not wanting to disturb Rus. What good those plans have gotten him. All he has to show for it is yet more LV, making him the worst kind of example.

Having Rus here with him, it’s almost like having his own temporary slice of the other worlds. A reminder, right in his house, of the kind of life he is striving to give his people. Yes, Rus may grate at him — particularly when he gets (rightfully) snippy about his LV and all the negative ways it affects him. But it is those same things that go to show him that this way of life doesn’t have to be normal. It doesn’t have to be normal to wrack up LV to stay safe, to kill countless monsters in the hopes of maintaining an uneasy peace.

It doesn’t have to be normal. 

Mumbling something incoherent in his sleep, Rus nearly falls face-first into Edge’s lap. Carefully, he adjusts them both, scooching down to be a bit more horizontal for Rus’ sake. Although he doesn’t wake, he feels safe in guessing that his alternate is pleased by the change; although difficult to hear, he starts purring in the back of his throat. He nuzzles closer to Edge, flopping over to lie nearly chest-to-chest.

And there’s another thing he has discovered about the Underswap skeleton. Rus is oddly soothing, yes, but tempting too.

Ever since learning how pleasant this kind of contact can be with him, Edge hasn’t been able to help but wonder. What would it be like, expanding from, dare he say, platonic affection to something a bit more heated? 

After all, even when he is being an irritating nuisance, Rus is rather pretty. Tall, long-limbed Rus, with bones smoother than the best of Edge’s dishware and just about as fine. Expressive eye lights, communicating so much while remaining enticingly mysterious. As much as he may hide in bulky, stained sweaters, something about him has always managed to stand out. Even among the tale verses, his soft, delicate appeal shines brighter than the starlike glow of his freckled cheeks in this dark room.

And having him here, touching him in his bed… it strikes a hunger within Edge, and not the type that can be sated by the plate of now cold food sitting on his nightstand. He can’t do anything about it, though. Even if his LV wasn’t so unsettled, it just wouldn’t happen. Why would Rus want to be with someone like him?

Still, Edge can dream.

Rus would be a brat; no doubt about that. If anything, Edge would want him to be. As much as he may appreciate his physique, being with Rus wouldn’t be the same without his quick, sharp wit.

Perhaps that’s what even starts things off. A lighthearted argument, tension building with each remark. The darker part of Edge’s soul delights in this idea; seeing some healthy fight in a partner is a good way to rile up the passions. Yes. Rus would go back and forth with him, his face lit up with magic as they move closer and closer. The desire to silence that clever mouth with his own would grow greater by each passing second until he can resist no more and corners Rus and kisses him senseless.

Edge closes his eyes, swallowing back a mouthful of hot magic as he imagines when they would finally get to the act itself. How would Rus’ bones feel, completely bare and without any fabric hiding him from Edge? Would he trust himself to go without his gloves, to be able to feel his alternate’s beauty more thoroughly. Maybe. Any risk of being bare-handed would be worth it if Rus’ eyes would light up more when he touches him. Hell, maybe that would even add to the thrill of it all, knowing that Rus trusts him with his body even with his sharpened claws.

The room would be aglow with the combined shades of their magic, golden orange and deep red mingling to provide the perfect candlelit atmosphere without actually needing candles. Edge would make sure that they had the utmost quiet and privacy; nothing should interrupt or distract them from each other. He would want to be able to devote his full attention to Rus, only Rus.

What kind of parts would Rus choose to summon, their first time? Edge honestly has no clue. Anything would make him happy: pussy, cock, both, or even something else completely. Whatever Rus would give him, Edge would gladly take, and hope for the same in return. As long as Edge could find a way to make him feel good, to make him cry out breathy and wanting and —

Suddenly, all fantasies cut short at the sound of his door creaking open.

Edge doesn’t need to think to shield Rus against himself. It’s easy, simply adjusting his lax body into a safer position while Edge summons up a weapon. His magic may not be fully controlled — thanks to a combination of his LV making everything all out of sorts and so much of it having migrated to rest below his waist — but he is able to keep his intent far away from Rus. He doesn’t want to hurt him.

At the sound of his brother tsking, strutting into his room, Edge lets the weapon fade. He fights back all hints of embarrassment, not wanting to give Red any. Silently, he thanks the angel above for the thickness of his blanket, as it fully shields his lap and surely glowing crotch from view. This way, maybe his brother will mistake the vivid crimson shining in his joints as being from generic LV irritation rather than something more incriminating. 

The closer Red gets, the easier it is for Edge to smell the alcohol and weed on him. It isn’t that strong. He is still functional, as much as he was trying to drown out today’s memories. Edge hates that coping mechanism, but it works: Red _is_ coping, even if it is through terrible means. And given the choice between this and losing his brother to the shit they deal with on a daily basis, he will choose this any day.

That is another reason to be grateful for the other universes; they seem to be helping him in that aspect as well. Once the machine is back in operation, he should probably talk to Papyrus about arranging another multiversal ‘bonding’ night.

Staring at Rus, Red raises a meaningful brow, but he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to; Edge gets him, loud and clear. His older brother simply pauses, making sure Edge has made eye contact with him.

“heh.”

With that quiet vocalisation, Red walks out, closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: 
> 
> This chapter contains some descriptions of violence and mild sexual content.
> 
> Edge recalls the attack in which he received his injuries and the resulting Judgement and execution of the criminals. The acts themselves are only briefly described, mostly detailing the emotional/physical effects they have had on Edge.
> 
> Later on in the chapter, Edge fantasizes about having sex with Rus.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rus deals with the bizarre aftermath of Edge gaining more LV.

As soon as he stirs into consciousness, Rus can tell something is off. 

Nestled warmly in bed, what, exactly, is off remains unclear. He’s comfy, so all is good on that front. More than good, actually. Edge is curled up against him, sleeping peacefully without kicking Rus or something equally irritating. The room is nice and quiet, and it isn’t like he has any bright lights shining into his face…

Wait a minute. Time to back things up a few steps.

Sure enough, as soon as Rus wipes the last of the sleep out of his sockets, he is treated to the sight of Edge cuddling with him. Arms tangled in and around Rus’ hoodie, the Underfell skeleton is getting damn right cozy on his ribcage. His injured leg is even resting on top of Rus’ own, effectively caging him in while keeping it nice and elevated. And okay. This is a thing, which also conveniently explains why he feels abnormally warm. 

Huh. 

Well then. 

Rus wouldn’t have pegged the edgelord as a snuggle bug. Never ever ever. But here he is, clinging tight enough to Rus that he has pins and needles shooting up and down his arms. Other than that, though, it’s not too bad. A little sweaty, but he has definitely had worse from just blankets alone. Overall, the unexpected cuddling is still pretty nice.

As much as he would like to stay in bed and relax, maybe try and snap some pics to torment Edge about next time he is being a stick-up-the-ass little shit, he can feel his magic shouting up a storm about how it is most definitely time for breakfast. Yeah, Rus could definitely go for some grub. Even if it means going alone to brave Edge’s kitchen — because as much as it may be both brothers’ house, there is no doubt that the kitchen is far from being Red’s domain.

Bones creaking, Rus slowly works at extracting himself from Edge’s grasp. Each movement is carefully planned; he would rather not find out how stabby an LV-agitated Edge would be if he was suddenly woken up. Then, he half rolls, half shortcuts the rest of his way out of bed.

During the entire process, Edge hasn’t stirred one bit.

If he wasn’t already awake enough to be concerned, Rus definitely would be now.

Floorboards creak quietly under the carpet as Rus heads towards the door. Tossing his head over his shoulder, he checks for a response from Edge. Still nothing. _Shit_. He pauses to steal an extra jacket for warmth and then makes his way downstairs. Maybe once he can get some caffeine into his system, he will be able to figure out what to do about the edgelord.

Speaking of caffeine, the closer Rus stumbles to the kitchen, the more he can whiff the metaphorically sweet smell of cheap, watery burnt coffee. Not as good as the brew Muff can whip up back home, but Rus can’t complain. They’re Underground, after all, and in Underfell’s Snowdin at that; the pickings are slim, and if he wants coffee, he can’t afford to be a snob. Hell, at this rate of his impromptu stay, he would be down to suck on used coffee filters if it gave him a bit more energy. 

In any case, thanks to that diffusing aroma, it isn’t too much of a surprise when he sees Red becoming one with the kitchen table. Skull hidden by the fluff of his hood, he says, “see ya didn’t burn the house down.”

“yeah, ‘cause that joke isn’t getting old at all,” Rus scoffs, swiping himself a cup from the full pot before Red can down it all. 

Although, the shorter skeleton doesn’t seem to be getting up anytime soon. Even when he raises his skull up, he only gets as far as resting his chin on his folded arms. The circles under his eye sockets, as normal as they are, seem darker than normal. Deeper. Even though he looks like he could benefit more from the good old bean juice, he doesn’t seem to want any. Huh.

“ya weren’t on the couch last night.”

“noooooo…” Rus says slowly, drawing it out. Unsure whether or not he wants to elaborate or wait for Red’s interrogation, he takes his first sip. Scalding hot and more bitter than the sharpest Snowdin blizzards. This is the kind of drink that makes him appreciate having to form his tongue instead of having one that just flops around in his mandible at all times to be burned. But when Red only blinks slowly at him, Rus feels weirdly compelled to add, “edge is, uh, he’s still asleep?” Coughing, he tries again, reminding himself to not word it as a question this time. “like, he’s really out.”

Red leans back in his chair, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “eh, don’ worry ‘bout it.” He pulls out a cigar and a huge ass lighter and exhales, “it’s normal.”

“uh huh,” Rus mumbles, more than a little skeptical. Normal for Edge to be completely dead to the world while he _and_ Red are chatting things up in the kitchen? Yeah, last time Rus checked, that should be a hard nope, no ifs, ands, or buts.

Then again, Rus has never needed to spend time with Edge right after gaining a metric crap tonne of LV. Plus, it isn’t like Red is acting that normally either. Now that he thinks about it — _really_ thinks about it — the guy has been weirdly jittery. And Rus has definitely never seen him go ahead and smoke those nasty smelling cigars of his inside the house. Jealous. He totally wants to go fuck the rules and light up a ciggie of his own, but as soon as Red barks out a bitter laugh between puffs, he comes to the conclusion that this might be a special exception.

“judgements are a real bitch, ain’t they?”

Oh. Oh shit.

Bells of understanding go ringing in his mind, a loud, clanging symphony as he puts everything together despite the still early hours. That single sentence, although lacking in official context, explains everything into one neat little package of logic for Rus to unwrap.

Judgement. Red had to Judge a monster — or _monsters_ ; the latter would probably be more accurate. That has to be why he came and left in such a rush yesterday, why Edge just accepted Red going off to Grillby’s for hours on end. Why Red is so unsettled this morning.

And probably why Edge’s LV went up.

That last one is just a guess on Rus’ part, of course. In Underswap, it’s not the same. Even if the queen made Rus deliver Judgements more frequently, she would never _ever_ make Blue complicit in it. Hell, even Alphys’ involvement tends to end as soon as the accused reaches the Judgement Hall, and she’s the captain. But here? Here everything is so twisted around from Rus’ own universe, with some added darkness and despair for extra seasoning. Would it be so farfetched for this world’s Asgore to make Edge play along in the Judgement process?

Any hunger he had been feeling swiftly vanishes, replaced with a vague sense of nausea.

“welp, i should get goin’.” Standing up, he tamps out his cigar. In a matter of seconds, his demeanor changes completely. All the tension and shakiness disappears, switched out for a mask of total nonchalance and carelessness. Even his clothes seem more casual wrinkled, like he had just been napping in them. Rus gulps, off-put by the display. “keep an eye on my bro, won't cha honeybun? he’ll need it.”

Before he can respond to that cryptic request, Red is gone.

“asshole,” Rus sighs, clearing up the plate Red has been using as an ashtray and setting it in the sink. He gets the kettle boiling and starts wandering around looking for some more snacky foods. Before heading upstairs to check in on Edge, he might as well get everything ready that he can. Just in case.

By the time Rus gets back to Edge’s room, his alternate has woken up. He thinks, at least. Sure, he’s sitting up and his eye sockets are opened, but it isn’t the most convincing. His eye lights look… well, Rus has no way to word it except that they look off. Too bright, but not entirely focused. Propped up against his headboard with a bunch of pillows, Edge’s current posture is nothing near the ruler-straight bearing Rus is used to. His pyjama shirt — black with red trim, unsurprisingly — is unbuttoned almost all the way down to his sternum. Which, um, he doesn’t know _why_ , exactly, Edge did it. Whether it just happened when he was sleeping somehow or if Edge was overheating or something, but… wow. Um… just wow. Yeah. Rus _really_ doesn’t mean to ogle his alternate and all that jazz, but damn, those are some nice looking bones. Edge’s sternum and ribs are so much thicker than Rus’ own, sturdy and strong. His scars only add to the appeal, fine, constellation-like marks with bright red magic shining through.

Swallowing back _that_ little realisation, Rus says, “morning, edgelord. brought you up some brekkie.”

Edge nods curtly in response, confirming that he is indeed awake and at least somewhat coherent. Good. That’s… that’s good. Yeah. His eye lights clear up a bit as he looks at the offered plate, growing sharper. He reaches out to grab it, only to freeze halfway with a wince.

Oh shit, right. Rus almost forgot about Edge’s injuries. 

“hey,” he says, handing over the plate the rest of the way to prevent Edge from hurting himself even more, “once you’re done eating, how about i check on your arm and leg? see how they’re healing up and all that ja—”

Before he can finish off, appropriate jazz hands and all, Edge instantly recoils. “NO!” he shouts, blood-red magic sparking out menacingly. 

Startling back into a half aborted shortcut, Rus stares at him, wide-eyed. Half of Edge’s special tea sloshes to the ground in the process, splashing against his socks and the side of Edge’s bed. In the back of his mind, the call for Judgement rings. To analyse the depths of Edge’s violence and guilt, starting with whatever happened last night and going all the long, painful way back to the beginning. Taking a deep breath, Rus forces himself to suppress that urge. That isn’t going to help in the slightest.

After what feels like an eternity, Edge’s fierce display breaks. His magic dismissed, he slumps back against his pillows. Most likely, he clues into Rus’ distress — he may not be able to see himself, but he’s pretty sure he’s giving off some significant freaked out vibes at the moment — as he lays his hands out on his lap in a non-threatening gesture. “Sorry. You don’t need to bother; it isn’t necessary,” he claims with a wince, voice far too quiet. 

If that isn’t the most robotic apology Rus has heard, paired with a bald-faced lie. He doesn’t believe Edge one bit. Besides being out of it, albeit a bit more on edge (heh) than normal, that wince isn’t gonna help him win an Oscar any time soon. However, the risks of going against Edge’s wishes at this time seem greater than the rewards of helping him out. Later, when he is feeling less stabby, Rus can try again.

Instead, he slowly moves to put the remaining tea on his nightstand, giving him a Look that should hopefully be a hint. And if he maintains that strong eye contact even as he goes to sit down? Well, Edge is jumpy enough without being freaked out because he can’t track him or whatever; the longer he can stay out of any potential blindspots, the better for both of them.

Leaning against the wall with a groan, Rus sinks down and sits his ass right on the floor. Luckily for him, the edgelord keeps his floor impeccably tidy. No need to worry about sitting on any lumps of laundry or bumpy bottles of honey here. It’s perfectly comfy, in Rus’ opinion. But —

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

— _somehow_ he gets the feeling that Edge won’t take it as well as him.

Waiting until it seems like a certain someone is done squawking, Rus says, “i’m relaxing. or trying to, at least. all i know is that i’m not shortcutting down to the kitchen to bring your chair back up.” Mostly because he knows chances are high that he would forget to take it back down, which is just a future problem begging to happen. 

Glowering, Edge doesn’t seem very convinced. “You are _not_ sitting there.”

“i dunno, it sure looks and feels like i am.” He winks, even though Edge doesn’t seem to agree with his brand of humour. Shame. Rolling his eye lights, he rests his arms, palms up, on his knees. “look. i’m not planning on standing and looming over you all day, so this is as good as it gets.”

Edge’s brow bones crease deeply, his eyes squinting as he glares down at Rus. Not angry, although he certainly looks pissy enough. Almost too late, he bites back a comment about how Edge should try not to think too hard, he wouldn’t want to hurt himself more. Things have been decent between them lately. More than decent, actually, veering right into the territory of good. It would be nice if Rus could end out his time in Underfell without going back to the snappy snap grumps with the Edgelord.

Okay, fine, and Rus is a little leery about angering Edge right now, given the whole ‘still feeling the effects of fresh LV’ thing. But he would like to think he is trying to be a good person here, all right?

Finally, Edge’s frown lessens. He pats the blanket beside him. “Come here, then.”

"what?" 

It's Edge's turn to roll his eye lights, apparently. "If you aren't going to sit on a chair like a civilised fucking monster, you will sit on the damn bed instead so I won't have to walk down and get the fucking chair myself."

Rus has no doubt that Edge absolutely would, so he gets up to sit on the damn bed. Not that he is complaining too much; it’s definitely comfier than the floor, even if it means standing back up again.

“happy?”

“Very,” Edge mutters as soon as Rus stops squirming to get comfortable. The way his body relaxes beside him, however, belies his harsh tone. For whatever reason, chilling up here with him must really be helping the edgelord out.

Welp. Far be it from Rus to whine about that. Settling back with a yawn, he jabs a finger at his yet uneaten breakfast. “nice. now eat your breakfast.”

* * *

Edge doesn’t leave his room for the rest of the day.

Luckily for Rus, unlike when he had freshly broken his bones, he doesn’t bitch about it either. Yay. He even retracts his previous bitching about not wanting Rus to do another round or two of healing. Double yay.

In fact, Edge spends a decent portion of the morning in a state that can only be described as a complete and utter collapse. Any energy he had was drained away by his earlier freak outs. That, of course, and the previous day’s events. Stars knows that Rus would probably be doing the same in the aftermath of whatever the hell happened. 

Red said Judgement, but even with the growing theory of Edge having personal involvement, something still doesn’t seem to be adding up in Rus’ mind. Why is _Edge_ the one having issues? Which isn’t to say, of course, that Red doesn’t have a fuck ton of issues of his own, but he’s at least back to a ‘normal’ schedule. 

Meanwhile, Edge has been hitting the hay hard, drifting off into bouts of agitated rest. Every fifteen minutes or so, it seems, he rouses — magic fast to appear and then dissipate from his fingertips — demanding a ‘report’ from Rus. Most of said reports mostly involve him stating the time and reminding him to take his meds or whatever, but that seems to work for him. But he isn't doing anything else. Just resting, without any of the extra aggression he would expect from someone who has gained so much LV in such a short time and isn't that weird? Plus, wouldn't the dude be used to this kind of thing? It sure as hell isn't his first time with the whole dusting issue. In short, this is nowhere near the Edge he was expecting to deal with today.

And Rus? Other than the odd trip to the kitchen, he just stays, keeping Edge company. He wouldn’t want to unbalance the universe by being up and about while Edge is in bed. Besides, he could honestly use the rest too.

And rest Rus does. Catnaps, mostly, in and out all afternoon. Notably, he wakes up from one with an actual cat curled up on his chest, which sure is an advantage. Edge certainly seems to find it amusing enough; unless Rus is mistaken, he can definitely hear the sound of a phone camera clicking, followed by an amused puff of breath.

Glaring at Doomfanger, who is currently grooming his paws in a meticulous way that was without a doubt learned from a certain edgelord, Rus sighs. He then regrets it; thanks to the fur demon’s weight, it makes his ribs ache unpleasantly. “you’re a little shit, you know that right?”

“I know no such thing,” Edge says airily, his smug smirk eliminating any attempts at faking innocence. He picks a book up from his nightstand, adding, “And as I happen to recall, you were the one who was so insistent that I don’t do anything that risks worsening my injuries.”

Unable to hold back the strange pulse of fondness brought on by Edge’s sass — trust him to only listen to his requests when it bugs Rus — he snorts. “yeah, yeah. just know that if i dust because your not-so-little fur-bag suffocated me in my sleep, you’re the one who has to break the news to my bro.”

“Duly noted. Now go back to sleep so I can read in peace.”

Stars, if only he could’ve gotten that recorded. No one will ever believe him that Edge actually told him to go to sleep! “aye-aye, capt’n,” he says with a yawn, choosing to pretend that Doomfanger is only a weirdly heavy pillow. 

Strangely enough, that little act of make-believe works. Rus soon drowses off, mind beautifully empty as he still shares Edge’s bed.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time.


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